Harry Potter and the Year of the One
by Ash9
Summary: Sequel to HP and the Bloody Summer- 6th yr. Did Harry survive attempt after attempt on his life only to die in the end? Complete! Epilogue now posted.
1. Triple Trouble

_Chapter One: Triple Trouble_

It was a nice day when Harry Potter stepped outside the Burrow to travel back to Hogwarts—so nice that he did it thrice. Although, to be truthful, he didn't even seem aware of the blueness of the sky, or the cheerful, puffy clouds in the East, not even one of him. In fact, as the three Harry Potters exited the broad, gray door of the Burrow all in a line, they were far too preoccupied to notice anything about the weather at all. In that, they were all alike. They were also identical in dress, wearing loose-fitting jeans and identically bland sweatshirts on their thin, medium-height frames. All three wore their thick, pitch-black hair pulled into a short ponytail, their bright green eyes ringed by the iconic round eyeglasses. But as much as they looked alike, in another, very real way, they could not have been more different.

The first strode out of the door with stormy eyes and a somewhat desperate expression, as though moving forward depleted the last reserves of his self-control. He did not look afraid, but by turns incredulous and horrified. The second figure moved languidly, like a cat, eyes behind the lenses daring the world to try anything, stopping as it pleased him, two steps in front of the other Harry. He swept his fringe away to bear the infamous scar, and as the first Harry hissed, "Stop doing that!" in his direction, his lips quirked up in a smirk. By then, the third Harry was near, walking with squared shoulders and steel in his green eyes, scanning the area around the Burrow, his hand already gripping his wand.

"Come on, you bloody bastards," he muttered.

"Now, now, Weasley," said Harry number two in low, drawling tones from beside him, "wouldn't want Mummy to be hearing that, now would we?"

"Shut it," Harry number one whispered with a furious look, grabbing the back of number two's sweatshirt in a clenched fist. "Or there will only be _two_ of us left."

"Harrrr-eeee, easy, mate," Harry number three counseled with concern radiating from his green eyes. "You need to _relax._ Everything is going to be fine. Don't worry about us."

Unnerved to be receiving a comforting talk from himself, Harry blinked. But he did nod and release Harry number two. After a few deep breaths, he spoke under his breath. "If either of you want to back out, do it now. Last chance."

Harry number two looked over his shoulder and spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm not scared, Potter. There's nothing more they can do to me."

"Oh, nice one," Harry number three gave number two an easy grin. "I like how you're getting into character. That one was _almost _convincing."

Harry number two whipped around so quickly that his hair started to slide clear of its elastic band. "How dare you insinuate—"

Harry number three dropped his smile and took a step closer, so that he was chest-to-chest with number two. "I'm not insinuating anything. I was there the day you hid in the house, saving your own hide, while Dementors ravaged my family—"

"Stop it!" Harry number one jerked number two away with some difficulty, as number two was now completely rigid. "Stop fighting about that! We need to be focused!" Harry was running out of breath. "There's a lot that's at stake here." Number three had backed away, hanging his head, but number two still looked mutinous. Harry couldn't say any more; a lump had been lodged in his throat semi-permanently, ever since this morning when Dumbledore had refused to listen to his protests concerning the plan. And now here they were, risking more lives just to get Harry safely to Hogwarts. How many would die this—

Number two turned back to him in disgust. "Oh yes, the life of our precious Potter is at stake, the Boy-Who-Can't-Keep-A-Family—"

And then somehow, it was Harry number three jumping forward to hold back Harry number one as he spewed threats and turned crimson. Harry number two smiled just out of reach and raised his eyebrows as if to say, _"That was easy."_

Of course, Dumbledore and his entourage chose that moment to arrive at the door, and there was a general outcry when they saw the state of the Harrys. Then the crowd of Aurors and friends flooded around them, several trying to ascertain what had happened and intervene. Ron and Hermione stood slightly behind Harry number three, obviously figuring that Malfoy-Harry had gotten to Charlie-Harry, and the real Harry had been holding him back. They were wrong, and it felt weird to see them standing so supportively behind the wrong Harry. A bit embarrassing. Harry was inwardly pleased when Ginny came up to him, the real him, and whispered "Give him hell, Harry," before moving on over to stand beside Draco-Harry. That momentarily confused Harry, but then he remembered that confusion was the name of the game. Maybe that was why Ron and Hermione were over by Charlie-Harry.

But no, Ron and Hermione stared after hearing Ginny and then looked chagrined. Ron shrugged apologetically and Hermione mouthed, "Sorry," but they stayed where they were. Harry understood. It was more confusing for anyone watching that way.

Dumbledore, who seemed to have no questions involving the fight and was holding a Firebolt Harry thought he recognized, simply gestured for number two, the Draco-Harry, to move over to the group of Aurors holding brooms.

"Harry, I have been successful in my attempts at retrieving both your broom and your Quidditch eligibility. Congratulations." The look on Draco-Harry's face soured considerably.

"Wonderful," he said, the word dripping with sarcasm. "I can't wait to get up there and lose to Slytherin." Tonks, who was nearby, jerked closer and Draco gave a cry like she'd pinched him. _"What?"_ She hissed something at him that Harry couldn't hear. Draco-Harry let out a disgusted sound. "Oh, all right! I meant to say that we'll beat those nasty Slytherins hands-down, of course."

Dumbledore merely held a finger to his lips and Draco-Harry straightened up, apparently remembering who he was speaking to.

"You will be traveling with some of our finest Aurors to Hogwarts today, Harry. Fly fast and perhaps you'll be early enough to sample the Welcoming Feast. I heard that the House Elves have simply outdone themselves in treacle pudding this year."

Draco-Harry gave a curt nod and moved forward to take the broom. As he moved into place beside the group of Aurors ready to fly, Harry felt the dread in his stomach give a leap of agony. All those people . . . Tonks, Mad-Eye-Moody, Hestia Jones and several other witches that Harry couldn't recall meeting . . . they were all flying right into danger, just as a decoy.

Notably, it was probably safer for Malfoy to travel as someone else rather than himself because the Death Eaters would probably kill him on sight. Lucius wanted Draco's head on a platter for turning traitor, much as Harry wanted Lucius' head on a platter. Or, well, at least Harry wanted him out of commission. The hatred he'd felt for Lucius after the torture he'd suffered at his hands had slightly diminished during the past weeks spent in quiet recovery at the Burrow. It had faded into a steady desperation to avoid Portkeys and a determination to train hard. Harry was not going to let himself become helpless like that again.

Mad-Eye hit Draco-Harry with a Disillusionment Charm, which made Draco complain, of course. Then they got on their brooms and started to take off.

As he rose, Malfoy seemed to give a last, sudden look in Harry's direction, but it was hard to tell because it was only a ripple in the strange lump of invisibility beside Tonks. Harry tried not to watch them leave. If he didn't act like it was the last time he saw them, then maybe it wouldn't be.

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore turned to Harry number three as though the other Harry had never existed. "We thought it best if you arrived at the Express by Ministry car this year, so several cars will be arriving any minute."

"Yes sir," agreed Harry number three, a bit too heartily for Harry's tastes. Charlie had been far too eager to put his life on the line for Harry again, and ever since, the memories of Mrs. Weasley's boggart would not leave the real Harry alone. What if Mrs. Weasley lost Charlie because of him trying to protect Harry? _No. _

The thought galvanized Harry and he pushed number three out of the way, stepping toward Dumbledore. "It's over," he whispered to the Headmaster. "Neither of them have really been acting like me. If anyone was watching, they'll know which one's me and the other two are going to be in danger for _no reason_—"

"No, Harry," Dumbledore chided him. "There is a very grave reason, and you know what it is. You are thinking with your heart, my boy, and this is not the time to follow it. Let them do this for you, all of them." The old man seemed to want to reach out to Harry, but stopped himself. "In the end, what they do is not just for you, but for all of us."

Half-horrified, Harry stared down at the broken, downtrodden grass under his feet. He nodded, then stepped back, letting Dumbledore continue his talk with number three. Harry was not the one in charge, and it was not time for him to be the One yet. Then it would all be up to him. But how he hated slinking about, acting as though he were afraid of Tom!

Angry bitterness flooded him, and by the time he pulled his thoughts out of the past, the Ministry cars were arriving. This time, the remaining Weasleys exited the house and surrounded Charlie-Harry, hugging him and telling him good-bye. They and Hermione would be taking later cars to the station. Kingsley Shacklebolt's replacement at the Ministry, Claudina Mossbergin, had stepped out of the first car and smiled at Charlie-Harry. He neared the car, giving a final wave to all. It wasn't until he got in that Claudina's eyes fell on the real Harry still standing beyond the crowd of people. She gave a start, then looked back into the car at the grinning Charlie-Harry. Finally, she looked at Dumbledore, who offered no explanation, only a slight nod.

Claudina was an attractive witch with delicate features, dressed in a slim, jacket-like robe. Now, however, she looked almost comical, shifting in her heels, hands frozen in awkward positions as she decided what to do. She spoke to Charlie-Harry briefly, then seemed satisfied. Bill Weasley said a quick good-bye to his family next and climbed in beside his brother, surprising the real Harry. He hadn't heard about that part of the plan, and was immediately torn. He looked over at Mrs. Weasley, and saw that her smile was strained as she waved. Two of her sons in that car. Her two eldest. Harry clenched his fists and forced himself to stay in place. If there was anything that surprised dragon-hardened Charlie during the drive, Bill would be there to help handle it. And they could activate their emergency Portkey as well, if necessary.

_They'll be fine,_ Harry reasoned, _just fine._

After all, the reason Sirius had died was because Harry thought he needed to take everything into his own hands, to always save everybody. He wasn't going to do that this time. He wasn't going to do that _ever_. _Listen to Hermione_ was his number one rule, and she had agreed with Dumbledore. "Best-case scenario: with three of you all taking different routes, they won't know which one to attack," she'd said, "so they won't attack at all."

Sure, but it was the worst-case scenario that had been cycling through Harry's mind endlessly since then, the one that involved the Death Eaters saying, "What the hell, he's got to be one of the three, let's attack all of them." Then there would be death and pain and . . .

Harry turned back to watch. The driver had already levitated Harry's trunk into the boot of the car and slammed it shut so loudly that Claudia jumped. She glared at him, then turned to smile and wave royally at the crowd.

A chorus of "Bye, Harry" went up as the door shut. Two cars followed the black Rolls Royce holding Charlie-Harry, and one sedan pulled out in front, all with odd-looking flags flying at the front corners of the hood.

Now, for the hard part—or, well, the equally hard part. The Weasleys all filed by Harry, going back to the house without acknowledging him there. They'd said their rather somber good-byes inside. Of course, the twins, Ron, and Ginny all managed to give him covert grins and wagging eyebrows as they walked by, in direct opposition to their orders. Their apparent coldness was supposed to convince anyone looking that the real Harry had gone off in the cars, getting a royal send-off, etc. That meant that Charlie was the real bait, the one in real danger. Of course, he had the most coverage: all of the cars were manned with Aurors, and they had practiced maneuvers to protect the occupants of the middle car.

As for the real Harry . . .

Dumbledore walked up to him and dropped something into his hand without a word. Only a nod passed between them. Harry pocketed the item, waited until the door shut behind him for the final time, and then looked around the surrounding countryside, narrowing his eyes. He couldn't see anyone or anything. If there was someone out there, wouldn't they be taking a shot at him right now? Of course, the defenses here were stellar, and nothing would really get through, but shouldn't someone _try?_ That was the reason for the whole charade today: the Death Eaters knew Harry was here and that he'd have to get to Hogwarts somehow. The Floo network was unsafe; the Portkeys had been approved by the Ministry and thus, were suspect. Everything seemed like a gamble; so the Order had decided to try subterfuge.

Harry bent down and re-tied his shoelace, hoping to perhaps draw the attack away from Charlie or Malfoy. If someone would just attack now, maybe then they could drop the charade and call everyone back and Harry wouldn't have to feel so helpless.

He stood with a sigh and pulled the bright orange gumball back out of his pocket. No one had chosen Harry number one, even after that rather obvious display earlier. Or maybe no one would be attacked today at all. Maybe they'd all arrive safe.

After waiting another moment, Harry put the gumball in his mouth. With a practiced flick of the wrist, his wand slid into place in his hand. Then he bit into the gumball. As soon as his teeth sank into the soft core, there was a squirt of butterbeer in his mouth, a tug behind his navel and a jerk that pulled him off his feet—again.

There was the usual disorienting roll of darkness and light that came with the use of a Portkey. Dumbledore had made quite a few of these special gumballs in honor of the occasion and handed them out liberally, with Fudge's reluctant approval. Now it would only be a few seconds until the real Harry arrived at Hogwarts safe and sound, along with anyone else in their scheme who had run into danger.

But the ride had barely begun when his scar began to prickle and then a sudden jerk snapped his neck back. The feeling of frenetic propulsion had stopped—as suddenly as if Harry had hit a brick wall. But he didn't fall back to the Burrow. No, the magic of the Portkey was still pressing him forward, only something else wasn't letting him go. Fear like cold water swirled in his stomach, and he knew, even before the sudden spearhead of agony bloomed in his skull, he knew it was Tom.

Harry curled in, clutching at his head, suspended somehow between where he was coming from and where he was going to. It was Tom's magic blocking him—he felt his presence in their connection—and as the force of the Portkey renewed itself behind him, Harry was caught, squeezed between the two.

The pain made it impossible to think, but his mind clutched at the dilemma: an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object? They would kill anything in-between. He was slowly being squeezed out of life. The Portkey would exert more force, then Tom would match it, as if upping the ante in some torturous poker game. Harry felt the repercussions in his head first, but the pressure on his body soon became intolerable. He cried out in the void between the wheres, uncurling his body to give one thrashing attempt at freedom, mentally thrusting out against the two forces—

_WHAM!_

The forces closed back in with hard blows on his abdomen and back. He couldn't get a breath, was unable to even thrash now. Did Dumbledore know what had happened? Or was he oblivious, still at the Burrow, celebrating the safe return of Harry to Hogwarts?

Harry managed to get in two more breaths, shallow ones. The Portkey's energy felt ragged now, uneven. If it gave, would Harry be taken straight to Tom? Frantically, Harry searched in his mind for a spell, anything to break free. For some reason a Reducto curse was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't dare try it, since he was the only solid matter in the situation. He'd probably kill himself.

Another stab of pain in his head was followed by gleeful laughter that danced along his frayed nerves.

"_Do it, boy! Let's see how real this Prophecy is! Will it be you or me?" _The words reverberated in Harry's skull.

Tom knew the Prophecy? The whole thing? _How?_ How had he learned it? Harry grabbed another breath as the force on Tom's side lessened.

"_The Kingsley traitor told me everything, of course. Now—do it! Toss out a Reducto and die by your own hand! Or wait and die by the force of the foolish Headmaster's spell! Your choice entirely, but I would consider both to be brought about at my "hand," wouldn't you? We can fulfill the Prophecy right now! _Tom cackled, sending bright colors and nausea through Harry's mind. His magic pushed harder, and Harry's next breath was infinitesimal. He fought to keep his thoughts straight, and suddenly realized that he had the answer. Tom was in his head now, and he knew how to fight him there.

With a heaving effort made harder by lack of oxygen, Harry erected the gray screen of Occlumency in his mind, blocking out his chaotic thoughts and the pain all in one. Tom shrank back: he'd felt this once before. "_Procclumens,"_ Harry mouthed carefully, using the knowledge of what he'd learned over the summer. As long as his focus and will were strong, he didn't have to actually say the words aloud. On the screen came delicate, faded memories, the ones Harry had chosen: of Hermione's hug in his first year, of Ron's sacrifice in the life-size chess game, of Sirius' smile and concerned gaze. Tom shrieked in pain, and Harry bit through his bottom lip to keep from doing the same as the pain in his head doubled and the crushing force grew stronger. Harry had no more air, but he focused harder and the images gained strength and color. His audience had no choice but to retreat before the barrage of love.

Tom's force melted away and Harry could breathe again. The ache in his head faded. It was that simple. Harry had won again. Air slipped back into his lungs and he relaxed, expecting to be yanked forward immediately to Hogwarts.

Instead, he was unceremoniously dumped on a damp patch of scrubby grass under a blue sky, breathless again from the blow. Harry lay there on his back, winded and wasted from the partial possession and the opposing forces. It was at least a minute before he gathered himself sufficiently to wonder where he was. It had felt as though the Portkey had just given way at the end, its power sapped by the contact with Tom. Perhaps it had. Perhaps, like a rubber band that's been stretched too far, the spell simply broke under the strain.

Harry tasted the blood on his lower lip delicately and pushed himself up on his elbows to look around. He was on a somewhat barren plateau, with a copse of trees below him to the West. Beside them and a little higher up was a structure he recognized: The Shrieking Shack. Harry groaned, half in relief and half in dismay. Just lower down beyond the shack would be the path to Hogsmeade, and then the well-worn track to Hogwarts. He was close to safety, but there was still quite a bit to be traveled, and he wasn't feeling his best. "Damn." Why hadn't they taught him to Apparate yet? Things like this were _always_ happening to him. He was supposed to be _safe at_ _Hogwarts _right now! He sat up, pushing aside his anger.

Maybe someone would come to help him. Maybe they knew where he was. Harry chewed the gum one last time, hoping against hope that the Portkey would reactivate. _No good. _

He spat out the somewhat bloody gum and swiped at the red trail dripping from his throbbing lip, smearing a bright red streak across his sleeve. Then he fixed his gaze on the Shrieking Shack and climbed wearily to his feet. His heart was pounding far too hard and his body felt cold. He hated Portkeys; he always had. There was always something bad at the end of them, _always._ If it wasn't a graveyard and Wormtail with his Instant Megalomaniac Doll (just add water), it was Malfoy Manor and that damn mirrored room. This time, he would have to wait a few minutes, but something was coming. With his luck, something horrible would be here within the minute.

"All right, that's it," Harry said loudly, and started walking. "I'm sick of this." Dumbledore was just going to have to teach him to Apparate early. If the Marauders could all be unregistered Animaguses, then he could surely be an unregistered Apparationist. And as stumbled over the scrub like a wobbly toddler, he was sorely tempted to try it now, on his own. After all, he had done it at least once as a child, appearing instantly on the school roof when Dudley and his bullies were after him at school. But then again, given his luck, he'd probably splinch himself. Although, if the Prophecy were true, it would be impossible for him to die that way. But imagining how painful it would be to actually end up split in half, he decided to forego the experiment.

He'd have to do it the old-fashioned way. He took a deep breath.

"_Accio Firebolt!"_ Harry's hand shot up in the air expectantly, bringing unexpected pain to his ribs. He crumpled, bringing his hand slowly back down. That squeezing had evidently done some damage. But he kept his mind focused. Wherever his broom was, it should be on the way to him. Of course, it was being ridden by someone else at the moment, but that shouldn't be a problem. Knowing Malfoy, the first thing he'd do was jump off like the coward he was, and knowing Mad-Eye Moody, the first thing _he'd_ do was get Malfoy off the broom. Then it should come straight to Harry.

He headed in the direction of the Shrieking Shack very slowly, every step jarring his ribs now. _Not good._ He tried not to think about what this meant. Somehow, Tom had found out he was Portkeying, interfered and stopped him from getting to safety. But did Tom know where Harry had been let off? That wasn't at all clear. At least so far, the situation wasn't desperate, at least not by Harry's usual standards. He wasn't poisoned or tied up to a gravestone, surrounded by DEs and Tom, or helpless from twenty Cruciatus curses and faced with one demented Lucius Malfoy, and it wasn't as if there were two-hundred Dementors around, seeking to feed off his essence. In fact, he was even somewhat close to his destination. After all, Hogsmeade was right over there at the bottom of the hill.

But it was just at that moment, just as Harry neared the copse of trees that, of course—_of course_—something moved in the brush. A continuous snapping and cracking of twigs, a large-scale crunching of leaves—it was a big something.

Harry started to back up, away from the trees, toward the Shrieking Shack that he knew was shut up tighter than a drum. More noises came from the forest, from its edge. Horror dripped over Harry like hot wax as the massive body muscled its way out into the cold sunshine, and shrieked.


	2. Welcome to My World

_Chapter 2 - Welcome to My World_

The shriek came from a lipless mouth underneath a nose that was sodden, but recognizable. Its eyes burned brilliant yellow from behind shuttered, narrow lids more like a man's than a cat's. But the thing was _not _a man. As it stepped forward on its lion-like paws and crouched, a scorpion's tail swiped testily through the brush behind it. It was something they had studied. Harry's mind frantically searched for its name: man's head, lion's body, scorpion's tail. His mind threw out the relevant facts Hermione had drilled into him: tail full of deadly poison, hide impervious to hexes and mouth perhaps capable of—

"Pot-ter" it croaked in hacking syllables.

—speech.

"You—Pot-ter."

Harry's wand was instantly back in his hand, but he hesitated. The creature seemed bloodthirsty, but what if he was another pet of Hagrid's? What if—

"You—_die_—Pot-ter" it said with the air of someone correcting himself. Then it smiled an evil smile.

Harry braced himself, then flung a strong Impedimenta curse in its direction, watching numbly as it bounced off without effect. The thing shrieked again, its face contorted into a mask of hatred. _"You—will—die"_ It leapt forward in a ripple of sinuous muscle.

Harry fell back, slinging a strong Reducto curse as he went that promptly bounced off its chest, nearly taking Harry's left arm. Then the thing was before him—rearing, shrieking, sharp teeth bared, claws out. Harry raised his wand and—

_WHAM!_

He was instantly ten feet to the side, feeling the impact all over, then tumbling over and over with something he couldn't even see. He landed on his back, breathless again, staring up at the cloudless sky, listening to the thing shriek and Malfoy curse flamboyantly. His broom. Harry's broom had carried the Disillusioned Malfoy with it, and they had knocked him off his feet.

"Potter, you _idiot!_ I'm supposed to be at Hogwarts right now"

"Why didn't you just get _off _the bloody broom" Harry turned to his side, clutching at the newly-sharpened pain in his ribs. "And _I'm_ supposed to be at Hogwarts, too" One more move made him gasp in pain. Malfoy just _had_ to hit him in the ribs, didn't he?

"I didn't get _off_ the bloody broom because it was traveling _too fast,_ you pitiful excuse for a—oh my . . . _That's_ a Manticore. Where the _hell_ did that thing come from" Malfoy's voice rose steadily in pitch.

Harry looked over his shoulder to see the thing settling back into a crouch. _Great._ "No idea. Don't suppose you know a curse that penetrates Manticore hide, do you"

"It's going to kill me" Malfoy shrieked. "Look at it! It's getting ready to attack."

"If you want to keep on _screaming_ like a girl . . ." Harry muttered. But he didn't say it too loud. The Manticore seemed disturbed by Malfoy's voice; it was shaking its head back and forth. And even more importantly, it wasn't pouncing. Yet. Harry glanced over to where Malfoy was and saw that, though dirt and dust clung to Malfoy's form, he was still largely invisible. Harry climbed to his feet carefully. "He can't see you, at any rate" He took a deeper breath, grimacing. His ribs were on fire, but he didn't think they were broken. "Maybe we can use that to our advantage."

"What" Malfoy was near-hysterical. "You don't understand. I've—I've had nightmares about Manticores. Since I was I boy . . ."

Harry was beyond disgusted. "I thought you said you weren't scared. That there was nothing more _they _could do to you." He glanced around again, but the invisible broom was just that—invisible.

"I wasn't talking about WILD animals, Potter" The voice was aimed right at Harry now. "That _thing_ can do a lot to me"

"Not—wild—animal" the Manticore growled, taking a step forward and peering in Malfoy's direction.

"He—he—it—it talks"

"Just find the _broom,_ Malfoy" Harry said under his breath. "And keep talking." He didn't dare move. The Manticore's tail was twitching.

"Find the—find the—what? I'm not your valet, you insufferable—" and here, his language grew even more colorful. The Manticore shifted and sniffed the air. He took another step forward, his gaze set unfalteringly where Malfoy stood. Time to go.

"_Accio broom,_" Harry hissed and held out his hand. A thunk and a loud cry interrupted Malfoy's tirade quite satisfactorily. Then the Firebolt settled itself into Harry's grip and he mounted it.

"Oh, you'll regret that, Potter" Malfoy said in a voice tinged with malice, the shifting in his voice making it clear that he was getting to his feet. "Mark my word."

"So marked" Harry said, watching the Manticore keenly. "Now get on."

"No" Malfoy said peevishly. "I don't _want_ to ride with you."

"Then use your Portkey, you prat!

At that, the Manticore crouched and pounced in a blur of golden movement. Malfoy screamed. He hadn't had time to get to his Portkey and Harry was already off the ground. With sudden inspiration, Harry aimed his wand down and yelled, _"Serpensortia Sextus"_ The Manticore was now below him, searching the ground where Malfoy stood, his tail reaching back to strike. With a long hisssssss, six snakes rained down over the Manticore, and it howled in dismay. The tail was immediately busied striking at the slithering bodies. Nearby, Malfoy was hysterically babbling, and Harry waited until his mouth sounded full. Then his voice cut off as though a door had been shut. Harry pulled up and away from the furious beast, just as the five snakes hissed in unison"_Die, Manticore, die"_

The Manticore howled in pain. Two snakes lay immobile, but the tail was not fast enough to strike all remaining four. Three had imbedded themselves in its haunches, the other was hissing around its paws. With another shriek, the Manticore fled in a ripple of fury, passing back into the dense brush beside the Shack, brushing off two of the snakes on the way.

Harry turned his broom in the direction of Hogwarts and flew as fast as he dared. That Manticore had been waiting for him. Who knew what other surprises Tom had out here? Despite himself and the pain he was fighting, Harry enjoyed the flight. His Firebolt cut through the air just as cleanly as he remembered. It wasn't until he got near to his destination that he remembered who was after him, and that Tom wouldn't have given up so easily.

He slowed as the mighty gates of Hogwarts came into view, then started violently as Dumbledore's voice came out of thin air.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, you have made it safely. Might I persuade you to fly over the lake, as the gate is under attack at present? Bon voyage" Harry had found the small lump of wax fastened onto his broom almost as soon as Dumbledore's voice had erupted from it. Now he fought the urge to peel it off and, instead, did as the voice asked. He could just hear Hermione's voice in his head saying"Harry! _Stop fiddling with that._ You're in danger"

As he flew closer, he could see that there were several figures engaged in battle at the gates. His mouth settled into a grim line as the long line of black robes and white death masks turned his way. Shouts rang out. Harry clung tighter to his broom and veered west. Two red beams of light shot in his direction, but he swerved around them easily. And then the line of Death Eaters was scattered by a bellow of rage. Harry's head jerked to look over at Grawp who was lumbering up to the gate beside Hagrid.

_Oh no,_ Harry groaned. Now everyone would know there was a giant at Hogwarts.

But the appearance of the giant had changed things considerably. Death Eaters were Disapparating so often that it sounded like microwave popcorn. Soon it was only Dumbledore, Snape, Hagrid and Grawp standing by the gates. Hagrid waved until Grawp flung a thick hand back to wave as well, sending Hagrid flying.

"Keep going, Harry" Dumbledore encouraged through the wax blob"the lake is still much safer. Once you are safe inside, please check in with Madame Pomfrey."

Harry nodded and resumed full speed, heading for the body of water on the rear of the school grounds. Once there, he could see why the Headmaster had directed him that way. A full contingent of mermen and mermaids were swimming near the surface, and the giant squid had seven of his tentacles waving languidly in the air. They gave Harry just a moment of hesitation, then he flew in between the bulbous, slimy appendages that smelled vaguely of algae and moth balls. One of them waved as he went by. Harry shook his head to clear it. Then he was over the water and on school grounds. In spite of himself, he let out a deep sigh. He'd made it.

"Mr. Potter, we are making our way back into the school now and all are accounted for. The Hogwarts Express is doing just fine; Charlie has reported in safe and sound. And you'll be pleased to know, I'm sure, that Mr. Malfoy made it safely in as well."

"Oh, very pleased, I'm sure" Harry muttered.

"Good. I should let you know that it was Mr. Malfoy's timely warning that led the faculty into the stand at the gates. Had we not been there, your approach would have been much more difficult."

Harry frowned. "I'll be sure to thank him."

"Oh, good, good. He was convinced that you would be less than grateful, but I was determined to let you know nonetheless."

"Thanks" Harry said shortly, not wanting his thoughts stuck on that git. "Is everyone all right, then"

"Yes, the Express is merrily on its way."

By now, Harry was at the back steps, lowering himself down to the ground regretfully. There was just something about flying his Firebolt. The light touchdown jarred his ribs so that they burned as he dismounted. He took in several painful breaths before straightening. Maybe he had broken something. His Firebolt . . . Harry rubbed a hand across the wooden handle lovingly. As his eyes prickled and his throat began to ache, Harry tried to shove away the thought of Sirius. But he wasn't successful, and found himself suppressing a painful chuckle at the memory of how proud Sirius had been of Harry's flying. If only things could have been normal, and Sirius could have come to see more Quidditch matches. If only he would be around this year . . .

Harry forced himself to stop. His gaze traveled the familiar dips and arches of the enormous building in front of him. So familiar, and yet somehow the building had lost a glow. Without Sirius . . . some of the magic had gone. Or maybe some of the hope Harry had been burying underneath his day-to-day actions, some of the possibilities. It was all gone. Sirius had been . . . what had he been? Harry sighed, unable to find the words. He no longer felt borderline suicidal, as he had during the summer, but his future was more bleak than it had been in years.

Harry started up the stairs with a wince. What was it that Ginny had written him this summer? It had helped every time he looked at it. She said that she had missed Sirius, too.

"_Not like you do, of course, but in a breathless, pained sort of way that surprises me sometimes. He was sort of an ideal to me, and in some ways he reminded me of you." _

A smile ghosted across Harry's lips and the ache in his throat eased a bit. He hadn't thought of himself as being like Sirius in any way at all, but it was a comfort to think that maybe something of his godfather survived in him.

As Harry slowly made his way up the stairs and into the school, his mind turned to his own condition. It couldn't be a good sign that he was going to see Madame Pomfrey before he even made it up to Gryffindor Tower.

With a magical heave, the doors to Hogwarts opened and Harry Potter moved over the threshold, the shadow of his broom brushing the top of the ceiling like the blessed Crosspole of the Bishop.

_A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed! It's so motivating to have other people excited about a story! Sorry about the __Mundungus issue! I had honestly caught that mistake and edited it out in one draft, but didn't catch it before I sent it to my beta, and she missed it, and that was the copy that I posted. Stupid me. I've fixed it, but thanks for the heads' up. It isn't easy keeping track of the details. sigh_

_Dianne, I did do a fair amount of re-writing on the beginning of this story before posting. It honestly started out stodgy and boring, but I refused to post it and one day I realized why: sequels as a genre are just boring. No one wants to know simply "what-comes-next." So I started trying to envision this as a new story, one that had to start with a bang instead of stupid, long-winded explanations. As soon as I did that, I was ready to start writing. Hopefully, I'll still be able to get all the boring information in that you guys need without it calling attention to itself as BORING._

_UP NEXT: Interim_


	3. Interim

_Chapter 3: Interim_

_Bored. _

Harry lay in the third bed to the left in Hogwarts' Hospital Wing, languid after his brush with death, watching the dust motes dance in the shaft of sunset-washed light. He'd been here far too long already. The other students would be arriving any minute, and yet Madame Pomfrey _insisted_ on having him rest longer.

"I'm taking no chances with you, Mr. Potter," she had said as she pressed him back into bed with a practiced hand, "not after the summer you've had. No, you at least need to start off the year well enough, _no matter that I can't ever seem to keep you that way."_ She'd muttered that last part while waving her wand to check the healing of his ribs. Then he'd been forced to take another draught of that horrible bone-healing potion and stay in bed another hour.

The potion had been nasty, but nowhere near the agonizing ordeal of his last experience here—after the poisoning. Just the memory of that made him nauseous. So Harry shied away from thinking about it, once again letting his gaze drift about the deserted room, to the carved stone of the high ceiling, and finally to the closed, white doors at the end of the Infirmary. In his mind he could see a big, black dog suddenly bursting through them. He would give anything to make it a reality, and to see the dog become a man, and to hear Sirius go off onto one of his completely unreasonable lectures on risk-taking. Oh, even that, Harry would suffer gladly.

A deep sigh racked his still-sore ribs. They were waiting for the breaks to heal before taking care of the bruising. With mounting frustration, Harry's mind reached for better thoughts. As had been his pattern of late, his mind caught on Ginny. She should be here soon on the Hogwarts Express with the others, which, he reminded himself, Dumbledore insisted was perfectly safe. There were disguised Aurors and the entire D.A. on board, as well as the added protection of Charlie guarding his friends in the guise of Harry Potter, taking Polyjuice Potion every hour to keep the illusion for the duration.

It was difficult to believe that it was already time for term to begin. The summer had been a blur of pain and anger, blood and fear, culminating in his ejection from the Dursleys home, the place he had officially called "home" for sixteen years. The Dursleys had bargained to be rid of him for good, accepting another house on the other side of town in exchange for one more week of the safety of blood magic. That would be enough to keep Harry safe for the coming year. Of course in spite of that arrangement, they'd tossed Harry out the front door at the first sign of Death Eaters on the front lawn. Harry gritted his teeth.

Dumbledore had gone into more talks with the Dursleys, but so far had not pursued charges against them. Harry _almost_ understood why, though all the Weasleys, especially Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, were vocal in their anger about it. If this were to go to trial, there was the very real danger of Lucius or some other powerful Death Eater forcing the Wizengamot to swing penalties against Harry or some other such nonsense. The near-miss during the trial last summer after Harry's use of magic against the Dementors had been proof enough. And, of course, there was the fact that the Dursleys' needed to be protected from Tom, in spite of the fact that they hated all wizardry and wanted no help at all. Taking this to trial would bring the Dursleys attention that could be very, very dangerous. Most wizards would assume that Harry loved his family, and there were wizards who would hurt them for no larger reason than that. The idea of the Dursleys being attacked again because of him made Harry's mouth go dry. He could not love them as he should, but he still cared. It was just another reason to settle this quickly. Tom needed to be dealt with, and Harry . . . well, he couldn't take another summer like this past one.

His real vacation hadn't even begun until after Malfoy had left the Burrow. The prat's acid tongue and bitterness about his father had made him extremely hard to endure, though, to be honest, he had gone quiet just before he left to go to Snape's Unplottable Mountain Chateau—which apparently was a family holiday spot that Snape rarely visited instead of the punchline to some outrageously silly joke. Malfoy had remained there during the last week and a half of summer hols and things around the Burrow had gotten much easier.

Harry had been able to recuperate more fully once he felt he could relax, or at least mostly relax. But the git's repeated assertion (in private) that Ginny was Harry's greatest weakness had continued to play in Harry's head. While Malfoy was there, Harry'd spoke to Ginny only when necessary. But once the git was gone, Harry found himself naturally watching her, and trying to _not _watch her, which only resulted in him being _aware_ of himself not-watching her, which wasn't any better. In the end, he came to the conclusion that he'd _always_ sort-of watched Ginny, always noticed her without really noticing. And now, trying _not_ to be aware of her in a room just made him that much more aware of her. He thought, however, that he'd at least kept his difficulties to himself and no one else had noticed, but he was wrong.

Harry flushed under the white sheets, remembering.

Three nights ago, he had been playing chess with Ron and trying to not-watch Ginny. It had made his hands sweat, to see how little control he had over something that in the past had seemed so easy.

_x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x_

Harry leaned forward and nudged his pawn, not seeing any imminent danger from Ron's players at the moment. The pawn looked up at him, sighed, and then trudged forward with the air of a condemned man going to the gallows. As soon as the play was done, Ron leaned forward eagerly in his chair—_always_ a bad sign. Then came the lopsided grin as he reached for the board, which could only mean disaster. Harry sighed and flicked his eyes over at Ginny again—without meaning to, of course.

She was still reading, her crimson hair piled in a flaming waterfall over one shoulder as she rested on the window seat of the living room. Harry could tell she was distracted by something. She was turning the pages slowly, much more slowly than usual. In front of her, on the couch, Hermione sat, flipping through her new Arithmancy book and mumbling to herself, already hard at work though it was still almost two weeks before term began.

It was a normal night here at the Burrow, post-Dementor attack. Harry was still surprised that it had been deemed safe enough for everyone to let him stay here, but then Grimmauld Place had been compromised, so there really wasn't any other option. Harry shook his head. The Fidelius Charm had failed again, just like it had for his parents. There always seemed to be someone ready to betray them. At least this time no one had died this time, though Mrs. Weasley _had_ been injured. That memory always brought tightness into Harry's chest. The Burrow had been attacked just to get to him, and he hated the thought that he was bringing them all more danger, just by accepting their invitation of hospitality.

Suddenly, Ginny slammed down the book she had been reading. Harry jerked his gaze away from where it had been stuck (on her) and down at the chess board, cursing himself inwardly. His face was flaming.

"What is it?" Ron asked him curiously, then looked up at Ginny, who had just stopped beside them. Harry glanced up, caught in an instant by the way her hair swirled around her shoulders and her brown eyes narrowed in challenge.

"Well . . . what _is_ it?" she snapped at Harry, hands settling onto her hips.

"Er—nothing," stammered Harry. He swallowed hard as he looked back at the board, jerking his knight over to block Ron's rook.

"Geroff! It's my turn," protested Ron along with the tiny, irate knight, setting the piece back—much to its satisfaction. "Where's your brain at, mate?"

"His brain must be stuck somewhere over my head, because that's where he's been staring at for the past hour-and-a-half," Ginny said heatedly.

"No—er . . . I mean, I was just . . . thinking in your general direction, that's all," Harry averted his eyes from Ginny back to the chess board as his cheeks went crimson again. He thought he had caught a faint smile on her face.

"Liar," she said without venom, "I just didn't want you to think I hadn't noticed, that's all." And with that, she walked back over to the chair, and scooped up her book. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as she continued on up the stairs.

"Your move," Ron said cheerfully, his grin self-satisfied.

Harry studied the board, disheartened to see that his much-beleaguered knight had joined the other black pieces that had been smashed and dragged off the board. He hadn't even noticed.

"So," began Ron in an odd voice, "I probably shouldn't even ask this . . ."

"So don't," said Hermione in a loud voice from over on the couch. Harry turned to look at her and saw one of her warning looks being passed to Ron.

"Ask what?" Harry piped up, his curiosity piqued.

"Ask if you've been staring at my little sister for a reason," Ron replied with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Ron," Hermione warned.

"Of course not," Harry said loudly, and, he hoped, convincingly. He was going to have to get better at this by the time they headed to school. But then again, there would be a lot more to occupy his mind there—the D.A., Quidditch, if they let him play, and Snape—Snape and that Newt-level Potions class. Probably, the awkwardness or whatever-it-was would go away by then. By the time Harry faded back into the conversation, Hermione was telling Ron off.

"I think I'll turn in," he interrupted quickly.

"Sure, mate. Go on up. This game'll keep. I'll . . . be up in a bit." Ron stammered a bit and his ears turned pink, a sure sign of subterfuge. Harry just nodded and smiled over at Hermione.

"'Night, Hermione."

"Good night, Harry. Sleep well." She smiled sweetly at him and he felt a bit better. But as he walked up the stairs, the lone one of the trio, a feeling swept over him that he didn't like, but remembered very well from Fourth Year—loneliness. It stayed with him, tainting his thoughts as he lay in bed for nearly an hour after getting ready for bed, shuffling his way through dim possible futures, horrors unknown and triumphs unseen.

"_. . . for neither can live while the other survives . . ."_

That night, Harry dreamed horribly, but woke no one with his cries. Even Ron slept through all of it. Like most of his bad dreams lately, it had centered on his time in Malfoy Manor and the abuse he had suffered at Lucius Malfoy's hands. When he awoke in a cold sweat, with the bloody Hall of Mirrors vaporizing into the darkness of Ron's room, it was hard to tell which he was more grateful for: the wand gripped in his hand, or the bedclothes completely covering him. Lucius had crossed a line that night, making humiliation a part of the night's torture. It made it impossible for Harry to feel normal, impossible to leave it behind. And the veiled threat that Draco had made, about future abuse being worse . . .

Harry pulled up the gray screen in his mind and forced his breathing to slow to normal. If he allowed it to dominate his thoughts this way, then Lucius had won. Harry decided to make another list, one a bit different from his "Ways-to-Keep-My-Friends-From-Gettting-Killed" list. It took only a few minutes to write down everything on his mind.

TO DO LIST:

1. Kill Lucius

2. Kill Tom

3. Master Procclumency/Occlumency

4. Kiss a girl—on purpose

5. Survive

In the end, the list was a bit surprising. Wanting to kiss a girl was . . . new, and seemed completely out-of-place on the list. But the thought was as a siren call to him, something that glowed with normalcy and felt . . . wholesome, less desperate. He had to keep it on there. So far, he'd only had that one kiss with Cho, which hadn't even been a particularly good one He wasn't sure, but he thought that probably—maybe—it would have been nicer if it had been someone not-crying and someone he was moved to kiss on his own. Cho was completely out of the picture now, so he would have to . . . stay on the look-out for someone. Someone special. Someone amazing and fabulous and brave; they'd _have_ to be brave to want to be around Harry Potter. He smiled bitterly at that.

And since he wasn't sure he would survive killing Tom—in fact, he had an inkling that Tom would only go if he could take Harry with him—kissing a girl simply _had_ to go higher up on the list. So he revised it.

TO DO LIST:

1. Master Procclumency/Occlumency

2. Kiss a girl on purpose (a good kiss, too)

3. Kill Tom

4. Kill—well, put Lucius _out of commission_

5. Survive

That was better. After organizing his thoughts, Harry felt better and was able to go back to sleep quickly, this time to a dreamless rest.

_x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x_

Harry's extra hour of rest was finally up, but Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen. He eased himself out of bed and slipped on his shoes again. It was curious to him that Dumbledore hadn't even shown up here to talk things over with him. But then again, Malfoy had been here all afternoon, probably whinging for attention, plus there had been all the stunned Death Eaters to deal with as well as Grawp. Dumbledore probably had quite enough on his hands. Harry knew what to do now, anyway. It was all prearranged. Quietly, he grabbed his broom and eased out of the Infirmary, moving cautiously toward the Astronomy Tower. It was fine if a teacher saw him, or even a student, just as long as _two _of him weren't spotted. And right now, with Charlie heading his way in an Invisibility Cloak, the chances were small, but not nonexistent, that it could happen.


	4. Untrebled, But Not Untroubled

_In addition to the wonderful help of my usual beta, Mmmusings, the re-writing of the end of this chapter came as a direct result from Melindaleo's feedback. _

_Thanks to both of my friends and fellow writers! _

_Without you both, this story would never have been written.  
_

_**Chapter Four: Untrebled, but Not Untroubled**_

Harry slipped into the Tower and called out a greeting to his Polyjuice double. The Harry-that-was-Charlie turned around with a relieved expression and immediately crossed to him. "Harry!" He gave him a quick once-over and grasped him warmly by the shoulders. "You all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Charlie broke out in a wide, un-Harry-like grin. "If you ever answer that question any other way, I'll know something's _really_ wrong." He clapped Harry once more on the shoulders and let him go. "So Madame Pomfrey got you all healed up, then?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," Harry answered again, trying harder to sound upbeat. "Really."

"Good." Then Charlie's face lost all traces of a smile. "But what the bloody hell happened? How could he stop you mid-Portkey?"

Harry shook his head. "Dunno. Something to do with the connection, I think. But I broke free. It's fine."

Charlie nodded but didn't relax his stance. "Listen, mate," he said, looking away briefly, "I don't know how to say this, but I don't think you're in for a very good year."

Harry's stomach tensed as he stood and waited for the explanation that Charlie obviously didn't want to give. His look-alike fidgeted, then paced over to the window and stood staring out at the sky. This may have seemed strange to someone who didn't know the Weasleys as well as Harry did, but he knew this was merely evidence of the serious nature of Charlie's thoughts. Ron tended to deliberate in the same, slow way—if it was something that he was able to be unemotional about—and it often proved to be a strength.

So Harry waited. And as he waited, he had a good view of the Weasley red that was starting to lighten the dark hair gathered at the nape of Charlie-as-Harry's neck. Harry stared at it, suddenly remembering the way Malfoy had looked as him, and remembering that Lucius often wore his hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"I'm definitely getting my hair cut," Harry mumbled.

"What?" Charlie said, turning round.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "It's just . . . the only reason I let my hair grow out was because I couldn't get out of the house to get it cut. And now . . . seeing it on everyone else, I just . . . I just want to be me again." He stared at the floor, feeling foolish.

Charlie brightened. "Oh. Well, that's an easy one to fix. I cut my own hair, you know? I can do yours easy."

Harry looked up. "Really?"

"Sure. I can even practice on my hair before it goes back. Watch." Charlie pulled his wand out from the back pocket of his jeans with a wink. "I make a good Harry Potter, don't you think?"

Harry smiled and half-sighed, "You make a better one than I do."

Charlie grinned. "It's a simple spell. All you do is fix the cut you want in your mind, wave the wand around your head three times, and say _Abscissa Coma!" _His mostly jet-black hair suddenly sprung free from its band and settled back into the familiarly messy, short style that Harry was used to seeing on himself. "There's all kinds of fancier spells, but no need for us blokes to use those. What d'you think?"

Harry watched in amazement as Charlie's hair chose that moment to slowly turn red in a rippling wave and lay flat again. "You and Tonks would make quite a pair."

Charlie looked startled. "What's that?"

"Your hair's gone red again. Polyjuice Potion must be wearing off." Charlie lifted a hand to scruff through his hair.

"Yeah, Nymphadora is . . . something else," Charlie said in an odd voice. Harry stared at him.

"You'd better not let her hear you calling her that. She's a bit clumsy, but she can still land some pretty strong hexes."

Charlie cleared his throat and straightened up, as if getting on with business. "Want me to fix your hair?"

"Yeah, thanks!"

Harry walked over and stood still as Charlie waved his wand around his head three times, closed his eyes and said _"Abscissa Coma!" _

There was a tug all around his scalp and a lightness that made him want to run his fingers through his hair. But then an image of his father scruffing up his own hair on purpose popped into his mind and Harry stopped himself. He didn't ever want to get vain—not like that. "Thanks, Charlie. Now what were you going to say earlier, something about this year not being a good one for me?"

Charlie's mouth set in a grim line and he shook his head. "I know it's always been a bit rough here for you, what with all the extra pressure and attention and all." He looked off at the window again. "But I don't think _this_ kind attention is normal." He turned a greenish gaze to Harry that was meandering its way back to brown, suddenly reminding Harry of Ginny. "Maybe I just didn't know you were getting so many threats before. Were you?"

Harry stared at him blankly. "Threats?" He searched his memory. "No. I mean, not beyond the Dursleys or Malfoy or his dad or . . . well, Tom, of course. But after that, it's just the occasional Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher going mad on me. Most people just stare or try to conceal things or occasionally accuse me of being Slytherin's Heir. Who threatened you?"

Charlie shook his head and freckles broke on his widening nose. He scratched at them absently. "Who didn't? Bloody hell, Harry. Seems like everyone was either trying to get my autograph, or tell me how Voldemort was going to do me in and how they were going to help him, or trying to get into my pants."

Harry blinked. _"Who_ was trying into your pants?"

Charlie grinned. "_Your_ pants, mate. Not mine. And I'm not answering that question, as I'd have to incriminate several young witches who should have bloody well known better. Hopefully, I got my message across."

Harry blinked again, not sure if he was exactly relieved to hear that Charlie had attempted to head off some admirers. _Probably_ he should feel relieved. Yes, except for the kissing thing. Would it be possible to kiss a girl like that, someone who just knew his name and wanted to kiss him because he was famous? Possible, yeah, but maybe not so very nice. But at least he _might_ get to kiss a girl that way. He was going to have to give this some thought.

"I can see where your mind is stuck, Harry, and not that I blame you," Charlie said, slapping Harry on the shoulder, "but you should really be thinking more along the lines of who's threatening your life. I'm pretty sure it was all just intimidation tactics, probably typical stuff for Death Eaters-in-training, but I don't know. I'm going to talk to Dumbledore about it before I leave, give him all the names. Well, I mean, _if_ I leave."

"_If?"_

"Yeah, something's making me want to hang around. I know the Order wanted me to work at some other stuff right now, but I dunno. Seems like I might be needed here."

Harry's first impulse came and went. He knew better than to say he didn't need help. If it hadn't been for the Weasleys, he'd never have survived the summer. And Malfoy had already warned him of something about the Slytherins similar to what Charlie said. It couldn't hurt to have more eyes watching them. "It would be nice to have you around, Charlie."

Charlie, whose bland Muggle sweatshirt was now stretching tight across his widening chest, looked surprised. "Guess we finally got through to you, eh? What with you being an honorary Weasley and all that. Good. I'll let you know what Dumbledore says."

"Thanks, Charlie, for everything," Harry gave him a nod before turning toward the door. "I'd better get downstairs."

"Yeah, mate, that feast smells fabulous! I think I'll have to work my way down to the kitchens and nick a few things."

"Just tell Dobby that I sent you and he'll do you right."

"Dobby?"

"Yeah."

"Got it. Thanks, mate." Harry turned and ran a hand through his hair, feeling its strange-but-familiar messiness. "Oy!" Harry dropped his hand self-consciously and turned. "You got your universal poison antidote with you, right?"

Harry felt the bicep of his left arm where a thin leather band fit snugly. On the inside of his arm he found nestled the small vial given to him by Snape to counteract poison in any food he was served. "Yeah, it's there."

"Good. Got mine, too!" Charlie tapped on his chest to indicate the vial concealed down underneath his sweatshirt, given to him as it was to all the widely known members of the Order of the Phoenix. With the rise of Voldemort's Death Eaters, they were now all in danger. "Happy eating!" Charlie called after him.

Harry waved and walked to the stairs with his mind now set on unpleasant things. Here at Hogwarts, he wasn't planning on needing to use the antidote at every meal, but if something seemed amiss, or if he suddenly felt wrong after a meal, he was under strict orders to let a pellet of the crystallized potion melt on his tongue. Harry sighed. He'd worn the antidote band long enough that he'd forgotten about it until Charlie reminded him. Now he could feel it rubbing with every swing of his arm, reminding him of the agony he'd endured after eating that poisoned chocolate cake at the Dursleys and reminding him of the fact that he really, _really_ didn't want to go through that again.

Harry took the stairs as quickly as he could, fixing his mind on the familiar sights and sounds of the dark castle around him and letting his memories recede. After a few minutes, the tenderness of the bruises around his abdomen had trebled. He decided that he'd better get back to the infirmary later for that other healing potion he'd skipped out on. Better that than having to answer all the questions his roommates would have regarding his purpled torso. They were going to have enough questions about the antidote band and the wand holder strapped to his right forearm, as well as any rumors about his summer they'd heard.

As Harry reached the last landing, a gentle roar of voices greeted him from the Great Hall. And for just a moment, the blossoming warmth of familiarity overtook him, and he felt like he was home. Giddiness filled him, an aura of excitement left over from his first year here and the new feelings of being cared for and liked. No matter what else happened, he would never forget the way this strange, magical place had welcomed him and given him sanctuary from such a miserable existence.

_But,_ he reminded himself with a slowly sobering face, _things are changing, have already changed too much from that first year. _

He stopped at the foot of the stairs, needing to catch his breath, for he wasn't in optimum shape after his nearly deadly summer. He took the time to remember Charlie's words and Malfoy's warning. Hogwarts' castle wasn't really "home" and the other students weren't just neutral background noise. Each of them would have to choose a side in this war, if they hadn't already, and suffer the consequences of their choice. From what Charlie said, it sounded as if many of them already had—against the Boy-Who-Lived. But Harry knew that despite that, he wouldn't be alone in the fight against Tom. At least the D.A. might stand with him, and most of his own house. There was a core group among them that he could trust. But beyond that, until he knew for certain where someone stood, he would have to treat all the students with suspicion. This was a war, a war Tom had started, and Harry couldn't afford any more mistakes. With a resigned sigh, he picked up Moody's overused, but wise mantra: _Constant Vigilance!_

He entered through the tall, oaken doors with a determined stride, taking in the bright lights, the babble of voices and the aroma of the coming feast as he made his way to the Gryffindor table. A vacant place had been left between Ron and Hermione, and he slid into his seat there, returning the bright smiles of those nearest him—all the brighter because they knew now it was _really_ him. He saw relief in Ron's, Neville's and Hermione's eyes and mischief in Ginny's. He suddenly wondered what the small redhead been doing to poor Charlie-as-Harry.

"Sorry about your summer, Harry," Neville said in a low voice. "And sorry I didn't make it to your birthday party."

Harry was thrown for a moment, but then realized that most of the summer's happenings were not going to be kept secret since both sides knew of them. "Well, seeing as how we didn't really have a party, that's fine," Harry smiled easily. "There were a few too many extra guests around at the time."

"Yeah," Neville said in an even lower voice, "Dementors. Sorry I wasn't there, Harry."

Harry gave Neville a smile, feeling intuitively that here was someone he could trust with no qualms. Neville had stood by his side at the Department of Mysteries, braving even the Cruciatus curse to try to help him. But still, Harry shook his head. "I'm glad you weren't there, Neville. It was touch and go."

"What's that, Harry?" Seamus was looking over at them from where he sat by Neville. "Somethin' about Dementors?" Seamus hadn't changed much over the summer, judging by the lively interest in his eyes, but his face had thickened and his jaw seemed heavier than before.

"Oh, nothing, really," Ginny said airily, "Harry just fought off about two hundred Dementors this summer." Seamus' eyes widened. "They were attacking my house at the time."

"I didn't fight them alone, Ginny," Harry corrected. "Your whole family and Hermione were there, too. And Dumbledore as well. Remember?"

Ginny shrugged. "I remember fainting. I know _I_ wasn't much help."

"Two hundred?" Seamus asked, looking at Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry as if trying to decide where the joke lay. "Bugger," he said under his breath. Neville's face was fearful at first, but then resolve settled there. Harry waited for more questions, but none came. No one seemed to know what to say about that, but at least Seamus wasn't calling anyone a liar. That was a definite improvement over last year. Dean turned around the join the conversation and asked Seamus what was going on. Harry noticed that Dean seemed to be looking past Seamus on several occasions, toward Ginny.

Ron took the moment to lean closer to Harry. "Good to see you, mate," Ron ventured. "I mean, _really _see you."

Harry shook his head; Ron had said that far too loud.

Seamus's sharp eyes were already on them again. "Didn't you see Harry on the train?"

"Oh, Ron is Harry's official bodyguard now," Ginny put in quickly, "so he's always worried whenever he's out of eyesight."

"Official, eh?" Dean spoke up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Harry and I are going to have the same schedule," Ron said boldly, overdoing it a bit, "that's what it means. Dumbledore talked to me about it himself."

Harry turned to stare at Ron beside him. _"What?"_

"Shhh," Hermione whispered, gesturing to Dumbledore standing at the Teacher's Table. "He's getting ready to speak."

"Ron," Harry said in a low, dangerous tone, "what exactly did Dumbledore say to you?" But Ron had turned to look at the front, ears flaming red at the tips. Harry held himself still, trying to breathe quietly. People were keeping secrets from him again and he _didn't like it_. If "official" meant that Ron was _assigned_ duty to him, and was to take the fall for Harry if there was ever any danger—no. No way. That was _not_ going to happen.

But this was not the time to deal with it. Harry forced himself to take deep breaths and to restrain from giving Ron a good, hard thump. The hall around him had grown quiet, ready for the Headmaster to speak.

"Welcome to Hogwarts for another year," Professor Dumbledore began with a smile. "It has been a summer full of activities for all of us, some more beneficial than others," and here he shot a look in Harry's direction. Harry slowly clenched his left hand into a fist and felt the antidote band tighten reassuringly against his bicep. "This year, we have a unique challenge set before us—but hold, what am I going on about? How the mind addles as the years pass. This is a time for Sorting and not for talking. Bring in the first years!"

As Dumbledore returned to his seat, Harry took his first real look at the Teacher's Table and his gaze zeroed in on the middle-aged witch beside Hagrid. She had a soft, wrinkled face with a pleasantly lived-in sort of look, like a favorite sweater whose colors had faded in the wash. It was hard to see from this distance, but he thought she had pretty blue eyes. That would be Joanna Haverlime, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that Dumbledore had told him about. She wore no hat, only a bright blue turban that made Harry think of Quirrell. What was she hiding underneath that turban, he wondered.

Ron leaned back and shifted his head so that he could speak quietly to Harry, "You don't think You-Know-Who's gone back to hiding on people's heads, do you?" Ron's eyes were trained on Haverlime.

"He's too strong for that now. When he comes here next time, he won't be hiding."

"Next time?" Ron turned full around to stare at Harry, his face pale. Harry knew that look; his friend had it whenever the Prophecy came up. Ron finally cursed under his breath and turned back around. "Can't he just leave people alone?"

Then the doors opened slowly and Harry swung round to see Cho Chang leading in the first years toward the front where Professor McGonagall stood leaning on her cane. Harry spared a venomous thought for Dolores Umbridge, the reason McGonagall needed a cane, as Ginny leaned across the table to him.

"Cho is Head Girl this year. Didn't we tell you?"

Harry shook his head, startled, and looked back to the Asian girl. Cho hadn't even been a prefect the year before, had she? Along with badge on her chest, there was a new coldness in her face that Harry didn't like the look of, altering the simple beauty he'd once blushed over. She had changed. Behind her, the first years were clustered in a long, thin pack, most of them shivering and looking around apprehensively. Harry's gaze was drawn to a messy-haired, tow-headed boy near the front whose robes were too short for his long frame. He was a good deal taller than his fellow first years but in spite of that, there was a neglected air about him, and his large, dark eyes looked as if his wildest dreams and worst nightmares were coming true at the same time.

Directly behind him were walking three short, brown-headed girls so alike that Harry felt he was seeing the same girl three times over. Ginny murmured something low under her breath and Harry turned to see her watching the girls go by with a nasty look on her face. A few more rows of students went by, of all shapes, sizes, and hair colors, and then the final student sauntered by—a tall, thin girl with short, spiky hair separated from the pack. Something about her face and hair reminded him of Madame Hooch.

"Don't you think she looks a bit like Madame Hooch?" Neville asked in a puzzled tone. There were several murmured agreements.

"Spooky, that is," Ron summed up.

The Sorting Hat was already on its stool and began to sing as soon as the first years were gathered at the front of the room.

"_Welcome one and all to Hogwarts, _

_listen well to all my rhymes._

_Though there have been years of import_

_This one trumps them all with signs.  
_

_Not since the founders split asunder_

_Has this castle known such dread_

_Not the rumbling of distant thunder_

_But of drum beats for the dead.  
_

_Gryffindor, you have the valor _

_To prevail and guard the truth._

_Though your job is not to conquer_

_But protect One 'neath your roof.  
_

_Ravenclaw, re-think your thinking;_

_Find a way to do things right._

_Knowledge just might be misleading,_

_All the more, seek keen insight._

_  
Hufflepuff, there's none so loyal, _

_Though you've lost, been bound by grief_

_Break your shackles and show your strength_

_Fight for dearly-held beliefs._

_  
Slytherin, you are divided,_

_Split by power, fear and greed._

_Find your hope and use your cunning,_

_Go when One who's worthy leads._

_  
Once four houses worked together_

_I'm living proof; I cannot lie._

_Work as one, dear sister, brother._

_Unite as one, or you may die. _

Harry's mouth had fallen open and he shut it with a gentle snap. That was _not_ what he'd been expecting. The shock of it made him angry as he swallowed to moisten his dry mouth. So it was going to be a bad year—so what? He already knew that three times over. But from the look of the changed faces around him, he knew that the Hat had made its point. Ron had his head in his hands.

Ginny looked around. "Well, we'd better start taking up a collection, then," she said brightly.

Harry stared at her, along with quite a few other people. "What for?" Ron finally asked.

"Well, obviously, Dumbledore needs a new hat," she said with a sigh. "That one's gone positively mopey."

There was a moment of stunned silence and then laughs broke out over the table. Harry smiled, watching Ginny grin her slow, mischievous grin, and suddenly had to stop himself from reaching out to touch her hand where it lay on the table. Where had_ that_ impulse come from?

Hermione leaned against him, laughing a hiccupy laugh. "Oh, Harry, what are we going to do?"

The first thing Harry thought was _"we?"_ But he didn't have a leg to stand on with that old argument so he kept quiet. Once again, he had to remind himself that they knew the dangers of being his friend, of trying to fight Tom and they wanted to stand with him anyway. So it was Ron who answered her.

"Don't worry, we'll think of something, 'Mione."

Harry glanced over at Ginny and saw that she had been staring at him, a steely glint in her eyes. There, too, was someone he could trust.

"_Tuck her away someplace safe, Potter. She's your greatest liability."_

Harry turned away from Ginny, Malfoy's sly voice echoing in his mind. He could trust her, yes, but he had to watch out for her as well. If Malfoy was right, she was in grave danger, just because of her connection to him. Harry kept his gaze averted. The less the other students saw him looking at her, the better.


	5. The Treacherous Twitchties

_Chapter 5: The Treacherous Twitchties_

Harry looked around the Great Hall. It wasn't just Ron and Hermione who looked sobered and frightened by the Sorting Hat's speech. A lot of them were staring over at the Gryffindors who had just been laughing at Ginny's remark, obviously wondering what could possibly be funny. Probably, most of them had come here trying to forget the state of the world out there; trying to forget that Tom was building an army, starting a war. They had thought Hogwarts was going to shield them. And it would, but not so that they could hide from responsibility. That wasn't going to work. The Hat had just called for action, of which Harry definitely approved, and in which he was already mightily entrenched.

"They look terrified, poor things," Ginny was looking back up at the front, where the first years were pale and wide-eyed, several clutching at the others. A few were looking around the hall as if to say, _"Is the Hat **supposed** to say that?"_ The faculty looked a bit shaken as well, evidenced by the long silence; even Dumbledore was sober.

"They'll be fine as soon as they get Sorted," Hermione said in return, her voice also full of empathy.

"Unless they're in Slytherin," Ron growled.  
"Aye," Seamus spoke up, "there'll be no living with those wankers this year. Not if they do what they said they were going to on the Express." Harry cut his eyes over at Ron, who nodded that he would fill him in later. Seamus didn't notice. "Looks like Malfoy made it after all. Wonder why he wasn't on the train?" Though, of course, many of them could have answered Seamus' question, no one did

Harry looked over at the end of the Slytherin table, where Malfoy sat at least a seat away from his other house mates. Was that his choice, or were the Slytherins against him now, Harry wondered curiously. He had reckoned they would still bow and scrape to Malfoy out of habit if nothing else. But the blond looked comfortable in his exile, if that's what it was. He was watching the first years with narrowed eyes.

Thus it was with a marked stillness that the Sorting began.

"Appleby, Hazel," was the first name to be called out by Professor McGonagall. A tiny girl with shining blond hair scurried forth into the quiet, climbing the few stairs to the stool on which sat the Sorting Hat. She had been so lost among the flock of first years that Harry hadn't even seen her.

Hazel stopped at the stool, turned and paused, McGonagall standing back with the Hat now raised and ready. But Hazel didn't sit. She was twisting her fingers in front of her, biting at her bottom lip nervously. Harry wondered if the words of the Sorting Hat were running through the first year's mind. They must have been, because she remained standing and the tension grew. Harry shot a covert glance at Ginny, who was holding her breath, then looked back to the front. If Hazel sat, she would be committing herself to Hogwarts and to the action called for by the Hat. Harry understood her hesitancy. Just as Professor McGonagall made a move to step towards Hazel, the girl sat. The entire room seemed to shift with a sigh of relief. The Hat was placed on Hazel's head and she closed her eyes tight.

"_HUFFLEPUFF!"_ the Hat shouted, and the Hufflepuff table erupted in wild applause, as if making up for the intense silence two seconds before.

The Sorting after that went more easily. Each student was called forth, showing their nervousness in various ways, and after the proclamation, was sent to their house tables with relieved smiles. Harry figured he shouldn't have been surprised when the tall girl with spiky hair was announced midway as Violet Hooch. She took the stairs firmly and sat down on the stool with a loud plunk. The hat yelled out immediately, _"GRYFFINDOR!"_

Violet's face lit up with a wide grin and she pumped the air once with her first. She headed for their table, greeted by the ecstatic cheers and whistles of her new house. "I didn't know Madame Hooch had a daughter," Ginny said. "Did anybody else?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Might be a niece or something," Hermione suggested.

"Hope she tries out for the Quidditch team," Ron said, craning his head to see where she sat at the front of the table.

"She's a first year, Ron," Hermione reminded him.

"Doesn't matter if she's good," Ron said promptly, looking over at Harry. "Right, Harry?"

Harry nodded, glad to see everyone talking more normally now. His disquiet grew again as the next three students went Slytherin. Was it his imagination or was Slytherin getting more than their fair share of first years? The serious looks being exchanged between his housemates told him that they were wondering the same thing. Ginny was staring at the Slytherin table.

"Twitchtie, Unelda" was called out amid the quiet buzz of voices.

"Why are they even here?" Ginny hissed to no one in particular.

"One guess," Ron said, shooting another look in Harry's direction. Harry ignored him and looked up front see one of the three nearly identical brown-haired girls at the front. She turned rigidly and took a seat on the stool, completely pale beneath the short fringe of hair on her forehead. As soon as the hat was placed on her head, it proclaimed, _"SLYTHERIN!"_

Looking relieved, she headed to her look-a-likes, getting a high five from both on her way to the table.

"Twitchtie, Uprima," called out Professor McGonagall next, seeming to lean heavier on her cane as the Sorting went on.

Another brown-haired girl, with delicate features identical to the last, took the stool. She, however, had no fringe, but all her hair was pulled back from her forehead and tied neatly at the back. The hat sat on her head for a long time and Harry found himself trying to commit the differences between the Twitchties to memory, sensing that it might be important. Finally, the hat shouted _"RAVENCLAW!"_

Harry watched the smug look on Uprima's face curiously. As she headed over to the lightly applauding Ravenclaw table, she gave the last Twitchtie girl a high-five as well.

Then the hall grew quiet as "Twitchtie, Uzimay" took to the platform. It was like seeing the same girl up there for the third time, only Uzimay had short brown hair tucked behind her ears and no fringe. She sat on the stool with clenched fists and eyes closed, as though the Sorting Hat might hurt her. Harry gave Hermione a questioning glance, but his friend was watching the proceedings with a keen eye. When he looked back at Uzimay, she was still frozen in place, but her pale face had started to turn red. Uzimay was trying to talk the hat out of something.

The silence faltered a bit as the Sorting Hat deliberated past a minute. Uzimay had started whispering something. Ron was groaning about his empty stomach when the Hat finally sang out, _"SLYTHERIN!"_ Uzimay's eyes shot open and she jumped up off the stool, ripping the Hat off and tossing it at Professor McGonagall. Her face was stormy, like she'd rather hex somebody than give them a high five.

"That's a relief," Ginny said in a low voice.

"Why?" Harry asked.

Ginny leaned in over the table, and Hermione, Ron and Harry copied her. "The Twitchties are all dark wizards; I heard Mum and Dad talking. If they've sent their girls here instead of Durmstrang, it's not for the education."

Harry frowned, and Ron and Hermione gave each other dark looks.

"I wonder which house she wanted to be in," Ron mused as he scruffed at his hair, leaving it mussed. Harry smiled faintly. It always reminded him of his father to see him doing that.

"Isn't it obvious," Hermione whispered, nodding her head at where Uzimay was sitting, staring blankly at Harry. "I only wonder why." Harry watched as Uzimay exchanged glances with her sister sitting across the Slytherin table from her, and with the other at the Ravenclaw table. All three of them turned to look at Harry, one after the other. He could read nothing from their expressions, but their stares oppressed him. He shifted in his seat.

"Don't worry, Harry," Ginny whispered, "We'll keep an eye on them." Harry shook his head.

"No, Ginny," he whispered. "Just—" he couldn't find words to say what he knew he shouldn't and just gave up, looking away again. And then it hit him, maybe the Twitchties were some of the ones who had threatened Charlie-Harry. He could probably ask Charlie; he probably should. _Later._

Ginny was sitting rigid in her chair now, and Harry turned to the front with a sigh. There was only one more student to sort, the thin boy with messy, blond hair. He looked frozen by the silence, awaiting his name. "Wafting, Tobias," McGonagall called out finally, and this time, Harry thought he saw a tiny smile on her face.

Tobias gave a start when his name was called and then stepped up to the stool. He turned and faced the crowd, blanching a bit at the sight. He grabbed the stool tightly as the Hat went on his head_. "GRYFFINDOR!"_ it called out right away. Tobias smiled and shot up from the stool, almost running for the table cheering the loudest. Harry watched him with a smile, liking the first year already. He had the feeling that Tobias might be Muggleborn, and was glad he'd be in Gryffindor where he wouldn't be subjected to pureblood hysteria.

Dumbledore raised his hands to speak. "Well, that was, as I like to say, a Sorting worthy of the setting. Now we shall move on to the surprise section of the—oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself again. You are all certainly hungry?" Dumbledore smiled and Harry guessed that his slips of the tongue were purposefully done to whet the students' appetite for what was coming after dinner. Something Dumbledore was going to enjoy, surely. "Before we eat, I have only a short speech to give." He waved away the groans of the hungry students. "It is more like a poem than a speech, I fear. It is thus:

_Eating rather than working repairs the hungry boy_

_And thinking rather than hexing might yet prevent a war._

_But whosoever gives a fig _

_to one who will not fight,_

_Can find a well to drink from _

_when the dark has drained the light._

There. Just a random thought or two. Now, let's dig in."

As the food appeared on the table, Harry found himself more interested in Dumbledore's words than the dishes. Ron elbowed him to reach something and Harry leaned out of the way. Whatever Dumbledore's meaning had been, it was as clear as mud to Harry. He'd have to ask Hermione. _Later_. For now, he just wanted to eat and think and listen.

The subject of conversation during dinner was the Sorting Hat's song nearly all the way through, and it was interesting to hear what the others thought about it. They all thought Harry to be the one who needing protecting, despite his protests. When Ron started to vehemently proclaim that Harry did need protecting, Harry changed the subject, with Ginny's help. Ron was getting far too close to giving away the Prophecy and Harry didn't want that. He was still debating whether to even tell Neville, Ginny and Luna about it, much less anyone else. They moved on to debating the meaning of the Slytherins following "one who's worthy." Several said that would be Dumbledore, then others said Harry and they were back to discussing his part in the war again.

Harry focused on the food again. It was delicious as always, though a few things seemed to be missing. There was no bread pudding this year, or steak and kidney pie, both of which he typically ate. Harry noticed this with a bad feeling. He was growing paranoid; he knew it.

Long before Ron was satisfied, Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet again. "Now that we are all satiated—well, except the obvious few," and here Harry and Hermione elbowed Ron between them, still tearing at a pie, "I shall get on with the more important things."

"Mo' impo'pent van eating?" Ron mumbled through his food. Hermione reached across Harry to fwap him on the arm.

"This year, we have the privilege of marking the deeds of a very special student here at Hogwarts, one who usually refuses any sort of recognition, yet continues year after year to distinguish himself." Harry saw several smiling faces turned his way, and his stomach turned to ice. Surely not . . . "But this time, his heroics have not gone unnoticed by those who are able to reward it with public recognition. This time, his fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters was held in a more public arena, and it is the public who wishes to recognize him for his bravery, his skill and his leadership qualities. Of course, I am speaking of Harry Potter."

Applause rang out in the hall, loud after the gasp at Tom's name, along with a few excited shouts of agreement. More heads turned his way and Harry hunched over in his seat, wishing for all the world that he'd skipped this feast like he had last year's End-of-Term Feast. He should have known.

"Harry, would you come forward, please?"

_Nope,_ Harry thought firmly. He was _not_ going to parade up to the front of the room like some preening peacock. He was fine just where he was—_thank you._ Until, that is, Ron got a hold of the back of his robes and hefted him to his feet. Harry found himself standing unsteadily before he could knock Ron's hands away. He glared at his ex-best friend with a gaze that clearly said, _"Traitor."_

Ron quailed before the glare. "Sorry, mate, but I'm under orders," he said loud enough to be heard over the applause, which had grown slowly.

"Very good, Mr. Weasley. Harry, come forward, if you would." Harry reluctantly moved toward the front, his feet leaden, trying to convince himself that if he could best Lucius Malfoy in a duel—and he had done that—then he could surely _walk_ in front of the whole school. But thinking of Lucius was not conducive to peace of mind and Harry found himself getting queasy. He tuned in Dumbledore's words.

". . .the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Mr. Fudge desperately wanted to be here to deliver the award himself, but was unable to persuade the Powers-That-Be at Hogwarts—which would be myself and Professor McGonagall—to allow him on the premises." Harry shot Dumbledore a swift glance and saw the twinkling gleam in the Professor's eyes. He'd enjoyed that. "Mr. Fudge was most emphatic, insisting that Mr. Potter needed a ceremony to mark the courage that upheld him when criticism rained on him from all quarters before the Wizarding World acknowledged Voldemort's return." And, here, of course, was the expected gasp from the students (and a jerk from Snape at the corner of the Teacher's Table, Harry noticed.) "Cornelius also mentioned Mr. Potter's leadership qualities and skill in managing to escape from the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself at the battle at the Ministry of Magic, which I mentioned to you last year in passing." Harry was shaking his head now, only a few steps away from joining Professor Dumbledore at the dais. He hadn't been alone at the battle; they had all helped each other! And, of course, had it not been for Dumbledore's intervention, Harry would have been hit with the killing curse by Tom as he stood there, too stunned to even try to defend himself.

"After all the reasons that Cornelius listed, I simply had to agree. There is no one more deserving than Harry Potter of the awarding of the Order of Merlin, second class." Harry froze with one foot on the top stair and jerked his head up to look at the Headmaster. "Now," Dumbledore continued, his arms raised to the students, "I am sure that Harry will tell you he was not alone that night at the Ministry, and that others helped him. He would be the first to protest that luck was his friend on that night and on several other occasions when he has been in danger. But, this award is not given for solitary deeds of courage, as spectacular as those may have been. It simply recognizes the choices he has made, to stay true to his beliefs, to stay loyal in his friendships, and to fight when evil begins to erode away the lives we have built and hope to build in the future. Those that have helped him along the way celebrate with him, in support of him, knowing that they have contributed to his cause and share this award with him." The applause began again, and Harry couldn't help but sneak another glance over at Snape. He didn't look like he was sharing that award with Harry, though he'd helped Harry escape death many times. No, he looked livid, almost shaking with anger, just as Harry expected.

"Harry, come here," Dumbledore said quietly, reaching out a hand to him. Harry took a deep breath and then stepped up on the dais, but the sick feeling in his stomach was only growing. Dumbledore motioned for silence, then put one hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry," and his voice was so quiet that it felt as if the rest of the room didn't exist. "Sirius would want you to have this. If you cannot accept this for yourself, accept it on his behalf. He never got the recognition he deserved."

As Harry looked up, tears sprang into his eyes, blurring the kindness of the wizened face from view. His chest got tight and his breathing went shallow as a scroll was tucked in his hand and a medal was laid around his neck. Sirius did deserve to be recognized and so few knew it. Harry swallowed, torn. "Say a few words, Harry," the Headmaster whispered to him. "They are listening to you now, more so than they ever have before." Then Dumbledore stepped back, leaving Harry on the dais that overlooked the Great Hall at Hogwarts, alone.

Immediately, the students began clapping again. Harry turned to look out over the crowd of students and balked. How could he speak to all of them? What would he _say?_ His stomach clenched and then he saw a figure in the back that made it all worse. The dark green robes and red curls gave away Rita Skeeter even though her face was bent over a parchment. Just then, she looked up at Harry. She looked surprised to see him staring at her, but she gained her composure and winked.

Harry was taken aback. Why had Dumbledore allowed _her_ in, when he hadn't allowed Fudge? She held up her quill and indicated to him as if ready to take dictation. And as Harry looked back to Dumbledore, he realized that's exactly what she was prepared to do. Dumbledore nodded encouragingly. Harry looked out over the crowd again, even more reluctant to speak now that he knew his words would be put in print. What if Rita put a spin on them? Or what if he said something imbecilic? He'd never hear the end of it.

Then his eyes jerked to the Hufflepuff table, where Susan Bones had jumped to her feet, grinning and clapping loudly. She yelled something he couldn't understand, but it made the ends of his mouth turn up to see her enthusiasm. Across the row at the Ravenclaw table, Cho copied her, clapping and standing with a far more solemn look on her face. But then she smiled as she saw Harry watching. Justin Finch-Fletchly exploded from his place, yelling and whooping and bringing several more Hufflepuffs to their feet as well.

Harry's friends at the Gryffindor table were already up and cheering so enthusiastically that Harry was embarrassed. He was glad to see that Hermione and Ginny had lost the worried looks they'd sported at first. Ron was pounding on the table. Then a few more Ravenclaws stood and clapped with smiles, Padma Patil, Luna Lovegood and the new Twitchtie girl—Uprima, Harry thought—among them.

The Slytherin table was another story. The younger years were half-clapping, looking guiltily away from the older years. Only the other Twitchtie girls applauded without apology, though their faces gave nothing away. The sixth and seventh years refused to clap at all, Malfoy among them. He was sitting back languidly, resting one elbow on the table, his glittering eyes watching Harry. As their eyes met, Malfoy smirked and inclined his head, lifting his hand as if to say, "Go ahead, give it your best shot." Something about his smug look, as if he knew Harry would fail, boiled Harry's blood. His fists clenched, crushing the scroll in his grip. And then, suddenly, Harry knew exactly what he wanted to say.

With one curt gesture, he quieted the room. In sudden silence, the students sat back down, most looking at him eagerly. He began in a steady voice that carried to the back of the room. "When I first got on the Hogwarts Express six years ago, I didn't know anybody except Hagrid." Harry looked back over his shoulder to his large, happily crying friend and smiled before turning back. "I met a few people on the train that day—Ron, Hermione. Oh, and I saw Malfoy again. I guess I'd met him already, too—pity that." Laughs reverberated around the room and the Slytherins scowled. Malfoy looked unperturbed. "And as I met more people over the first few weeks, it became clear to me that most people thought of me as the 'Boy-Who-Lived,' even though I didn't know exactly who that was. People knew more about me and my parents than I did.

"There were some who thought I wanted attention—craved it, actually," and Harry paused to slide a not-so-covert look at Snape, "who had it in from me from the first moment I walked in the door because I was a celebrity for no good reason." Harry looked back over to the students as they murmured at that. "Now, I don't mean that getting rid of Tom, uh—Voldemort, the first time around wasn't a big deal. It was. It's just that I don't even remember it, or understand it, so having it attributed to me, as though I was responsible, well—I'm just not comfortable with that, I guess."

"Since then, I've had a lot of chances to prove myself, and somehow I've managed to come out on the winning side of things. But people are right when they say it's been luck, and the protection of others and sometimes quite mystifying circumstances that have gotten me this far. I know Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna and Ginny have all risked their lives for me," he added, gesturing to them, "and Ron and Hermione more than once. Others have done the same." He paused, mentally thanking Snape and the Order members he couldn't mention. "I have been reckless. I've even been foolish. And I've paid for that. So have others." He paused again. His throat had gotten achy and his chest so tight that he had to take a deep breath to get enough air. "But it all stops here." He took another long moment to collect himself, willing the quavering note out of his voice, pressing his lips together. Then he looked back up.

"You heard what the Sorting Hat sang. Things are going to be different this year. So, those of you who've been on my side, who want to fight Voldemort," he again ignored the gasps, "and his cracked team of Death Eaters, prepare yourselves. I need you to watch my back." He let his eyes drift over the three tables of his supporters, meeting eyes whenever he could. "I need you to look out for signs of trouble, to tell someone if a student or teacher is acting strangely or threatening you in any way. If we all refuse to ignore the changes, however subtle they may be, and work together, then evil cannot gain a foothold. And there will be no need for threatening hats." Harry half-smiled and looked over at the Sorting Hat. A few people laughed and Harry heard Dumbledore chuckle behind him appreciatively.

Then he shifted and eyed the crowd, wondering who among them, beyond the obvious, would be the betrayers this year, the ones who would work with Tom, who had threatened Charlie and would actively seek to harm Ginny and all of Harry's friends? When he spoke again, it was in a deadly, still voice.

"And for those of you who have chosen the wrong side, who are plotting my downfall and scheming away in dark corners like pathetic little rats, aching for your own glory—watch _your_ backs. You're not going to stop me from doing what I have to do. You're wasting your time and gaining yourself an enemy you _do not want._

You may know that I've been cursed by the _Avada Kedarva_ before, but also by the Imperius and the Cruciatus more times than I can count; I've been Kissed by a Dementor; been bitten, beaten, bloodlet, betrayed, choked, drugged, poisoned, possessed, slashed and basically—tortured. You think you can do better than that? Want to add something on to the list? Don't bother. Take a good look—I'm still here. My advice to you is to stay out of my way and_ let me do what I have to do."_

His words ended in a venomous whisper and that hissed like Parseltongue through the hall. He had shocked himself, but the righteous anger he felt sustained him as he walked from the platform. Then he stopped before the reached the floor.

"Oh—and the only way I'll accept this award is on behalf of my godfather Sirius Black, who was innocent of all the charges lodged against him years ago and who lost his life in saving mine at the Ministry of Magic in June, and also on behalf of the other members of the Order of the Phoenix and the D.A. who helped me. Thanks." And then he walked down the long hall to his seat, among a few scattered claps and murmurs.

To him, the silence sounded better than the applause had.


	6. More Triple Threats

_Chapter Six: More Triple Threats_

Harry kept his eyes down at the table, but did notice Hermione and Ginny surreptitiously wiping away tears. Ron sniffed a bit as well, and patted Harry so hard on the back that he made him cough, but nobody said a word until after Dumbledore had given the first years their usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest and announced that the list of outlawed items to be posted on Argus Filch's door now included—of course—

anything sold by Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes. Despite the sober tone of the Hat's song and Harry's speech, the mood was light as Dumbledore released the first years to go with their prefects, then dismissed everyone else.

Everyone at the Gryffindor table seemed to want to catch Harry's eye and smile supportively, which was nice. But as he stood, the noise in the hall reached an unusual pitch, and actually seemed to direct itself his way. Harry watched in amazement as more and more students turned his way, talking, pointing, and moving toward him.

"Er . . . Ron," Harry began, backing toward the table as the first of the crowd arrived—all girls. They were wide-eyed, calling out to him enthusiastically but staying a polite distance back, Harry noticed with relief. He smiled awkwardly back. Quite a few DA members had made their way over through the crowd to beam at him and they came closer to clap him on the back. Harry felt more comfortable with their presence, especially Susan Bones, who had been the first to show him her support when he was wavering on the dais. "Hi, Susan. Have a good summer?"

"Very nice and very boring, thanks. And you?" She asked eagerly. "I suppose it wasn't very nice, but it couldn't have been worse than last year at least."

"You'd be surprised."

"Oh, sorry. I did hear about some of it. I forgot. But . . . that was a great speech, Harry, just great," and then, to his amazement, she blushed. He found his tongue had frozen in his mouth, and was relieved when she was jostled away by a grinning Justin Finch-Fletchly.

"I'll watch your back, mate. You can count on me."

"As will I," said Ernie McMillan beside him.

"Thanks," Harry said, beginning to feel buoyed by all the support. As Justin and Ernie disappeared back into the crowd, Harry saw a sea of faces, all smiling and waving and trying to get his attention.

"Way to go, Harry!"

"_Smashing speech, Harry!"_

It was quite overwhelming. One young girl sprang forward through a hole in the crowd—the tiny blue-eyed blonde who had gone first in the Sorting. "I can't believe I'm meeting _you_—Harry Potter!" She squealed in an alarming way and threw herself at Harry, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Stunned, arms up so that he wouldn't touch the girl, Harry could do nothing but stand there, acutely aware of the way the girl's chin was digging into his navel, and the way two of his mates were laughing fit to burst.

"Robbing the cradle, eh, Harry?" Seamus called out, Dean nearly collapsing against him in laughter. Harry smiled weakly and looked over at Ron, who had been stunned into immobility as well.

"It's all right, Harry," piped in Collin Creevy. "Mind if I get a picture?"

"What?" Harry asked him dumbly, then shook his head, "no! No pictures!" he bellowed.

"Creevy, get back, you clod," came Ron's bellowing voice suddenly from beside Harry. "Haven't you gotten enough pictures of him yet? And you!" Ron took hold of the little first year around Harry's waist and gently disentangled her. "What house are you in?"  
"I'm a Hufflepuff," she said in a dreamy voice, "and he smells sooooo good, just like I knew he would." A sudden chorus of _ohhhhhhh_ broke out among the girls nearby, and Harry turned bright red, confusedly trying to figure out how on earth he could smell _good _after fleeing from a Manticore and spending hours downing potions in the Hospital Wing.

Seamus laughed louder and took her arm from Ron. "Don' worry. I'll get her back where she belongs. Come along now. He doesn't _always_ smell like that, you know," Seamus confided loudly in his soft brogue. "You should come around after he's rank from a Quidditch practice."

Harry glared at Seamus before the crowd swallowed him up, then jumped when a gaggle of girls to his right squealed.

"_OOOOOOooooooo!"_

"A sweaty Harry Potter!" one yelled louder than the others. Whatever had been holding them back was now done with. They all squealed again and pressed in closer, forcing Harry to draw back as far as he could, hands up in defense, the table digging into his back.

"That's just—just . . ." Ron looked dumbfounded again as the flock of girls pressed him back as well. They were reaching out to touch Harry's robes, his hair . . . .

"Get me out of here, Ron," he hissed loudly over the girls' heads, pushing away as many hands as he could without being overtly rude. "Yes, hi. No, don't—not the—

Hey!" Harry batted a pudgy brunette's hand away from his scar.

"_Oooooooo!_ _I touched it!"_ She said as she fell back, collapsing against the crowd and pulling away the girls in front for a moment. Then the crowd swallowed her, a crush of girls sighing out their desire to touch Harry as well. Then they were on him, hands reaching toward Harry's face—

"For heaven's sake," a familiar voice snapped from beyond Harry's vision, "_Catervaductum!"_ The crowd of girls split down the middle as if jerked by an unseen hand and Hermione appeared in the space, Ginny right behind her. "Let him _breathe,_ would you," she chided the frustrated girls crossly, walking to Harry. She let out a loud, huffing breath. "You all right, Harry?"

He stared at the girls re-settling themselves, edging as close as they dared and shooting glares at Hermione. He swallowed. "What_ is_ all this?" he asked under his breath.

"Your fans," Ginny said, her eyes melting with sympathy. "I'm afraid it's like this everywhere now. We were hoping it would be better at school," her glance included Hermione and Ron, who was shaking his head as if to clear it, "but thanks to that speech—"

"We love you, Harry!" cried a girl from the pack, now edging their way closer again.

"Thanks to your speech," Ginny started again, more loudly this time, "the fan club has come out of hiding."

"Fan club?" Harry asked, horrified.

""_I'll watch your back, Harry!" _agirl shouted. A chorus of agreeing voices cried out.

"_Heh. I'll watch anything he lets me!"_

Harry spun around on that one, because it sounded like a bloke. But before he could make out who it had been, Hermione and Ginny were knocked into him from behind by a surge of fans. Harry helped Ginny as she nearly fell over the bench.

"That's enough!" Ron roared, wading through the crowd toward Harry. "This is just—just—come on, now. Ease off," he said as he reached Hermione and pulled her back. She had her wand out, and the front line of girls was edging nervously away from her.

"I will be taking house points the next time someone pushes me! Is that clear?" Hermione yelled with a fierce look in her eyes, and the nearest girls scattered. On Harry's other side, Ginny had her wand out as well.

"Stay back," Ginny cried, "or I'll show you what a Bat Bogey-Hex is!"

Ron looked up from where he was setting a first-year girl aside and cursed. "Just climb over the table," he called to Harry, gesturing over the heads of the girls.

"Aye, head for the hills, mate!" Seamus yelled.

Harry went for it, and there was a general outcry as he crawled up on the Gryffindor table.

"_Harr—eeeeeee!" _More squeals

"What's going on?" A girl called from back of the crowd. "I can't see! Has he got his shirt off or something?"

Harry turned around and bellowed, "_I MOST CERTAINLY DO NOT HAVE MY SHIRT OFF!"_

The crowd immediately quieted; the girls stared at him open-mouthed. For some reason, Ginny was smiling.

Then one girl spoke up. "Then, what're you waiting for?"

"_Yeah!" _

Harry froze again as the crowd took up the cry, at a complete loss for how to deal with this. There was more yelling now, more faces turning his way, most seemingly in support of the idea of him _stripping off his clothes._ And then, despite his horror, it suddenly struck him that some of these girls might . . . they actually might, well . . . probably _would_ like to kiss him. He turned red again.

"All right, Harry—move it before we get squashed!" Ron shouted reaching over the table to shove him on his way, then turned back to the crowd, wand out along with Hermione and Ginny. "Go find some place better to drool!"

"Come on, Harry. I've got your back," Neville called from where he was now standing on the other side of the table, waiting for him. Harry gladly clambered down, but wondered if even the enormous table would be enough of a deterrent to the crowd.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Neville's eyes were open wide, as though he'd seen a wild pack of lions devouring a hyena carcass.

"Think so. Don't know what to make of that, though," Harry said, gesturing loosely to the crowd where Hermione was still trying to take control.

"NO! No climbing over the table! You first years should find your prefects and go to your common rooms now," she said loudly, gesturing with her wand, "and you older students should know better than this," she added severely. "House points will be taken if you do not move now!"

Harry watched in relief as most of the crowd turned away, the girls seeming disappointed, most of the boys polarized between highly amused or highly irritated. Most of the students in his year seemed to belong to the amused group. _They could have stepped in and helped, _Harry thought.

Ron was clambering over the table now to join them, his long limbs spread out spider-like, a comparison he surely wouldn't have appreciated.

Neville smiled hesitantly, "Must have been sort of nice, though, right?"

Harry stared over at him. "What?"

Neville shrugged. "Just seemed like fun, you know, having that many girls trying to touch you and . . . you know—well, kinda', fun." He blushed and looked down when Harry frowned.

"That was about as fun as being attacked by a Manticore."

"Yeah," Ron joined in as he touched ground, "not that you know what that's like, though, right?"

"Er . . ." Harry said, suddenly remembering that he actually hadn't told Ron or Hermione about the Manticore, the Portkey or the mind-duel with Tom.

"_Ouch! Oh, ouch. OUCH!"_ A sudden chorus of yells came from across the table, and the boys whipped around just in time to see the crowd pulling away from Ginny as she crammed her wand back in a pocket, her face savage. When she saw Harry looking at her, she put her hands on her hips.

"What? Just be glad _you_ didn't hear what she said!" she called across to him, chin raised in the air, then joined Hermione in pushing their way toward the doors of the Great Hall. They passed Cho, who was standing their with hands on hips, watching Harry with no expression. After a nod to him, she turned away as well.

"Girls. Completely mad," Harry murmured, cementing his opinion of the year before. He turned to Ron and Neville, expecting agreement, but Ron was openly grinning.

"Guess Ginny and Hermione did all right, though, didn't they?" Ron said with a self-satisfied grin.

"Oh, Ginny's fantastic," Neville joined in eagerly.

Harry nodded, but his thoughts were already back on the crowd and their hysteria over the very idea that he might have taken his shirt off. Him? He couldn't think of anything he'd be _less_ willing to do than take his shirt off in front of a group of girls while standing on a table in the Great Hall. Harry shook his head. He was beginning to understand Dumbledore's decision to have Ron be his bodyguard. He gave Ron a grim smile, "Thanks, mate. I owe you one, too."

"Uh, yeah, right," Ron nodded gamely, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All I know is you better not make any more bloody speeches. All those people pressing close like that? Anything could happen." Then he straightened and looked beyond Harry. "Hey Cho! Cho, did you see this over here? There's got to be a rule against this! Someone needs be docked House Points. What?" As she called back, Ron took a few steps forward to gesture the Head Girl over and someone took that opportunity to slip around him and beside Neville.

Harry suddenly found himself face to face with a Twitchtie. "Er—hello," he said haltingly—ready to bolt if she threw herself at him, requested that bits of his clothing come off, or tried to do Dark Magic.

"Uprima Twitchtie," the girl in front of Harry offered, her solemn brown eyes never leaving his. "My friends call me Prima. Don't listen to what other people say about me and my sisters. I always believed you about Voldemort and I want to help you any way I can."

"Er—thanks," Harry said, finding himself leaning back slightly. "This is my friend, Neville Longbottom," he introduced him with a wave, more to distract the girl than anything else.

"How do you do," Uprima said properly.

Neville stammered back, "F-Fine. And you?"

"Spiffing." The girl couldn't have been older than eleven, but there was something unnerving about the intense burning of her brown eyes as they never left Harry's. "Harry, I meant to ask you—"

"Here, what do you think you're doing," Ron was suddenly there in a flurry of motion, grasping Uprima by the shoulders and shunting her over to the side. "Go on—find your house mates or I'm taking Points—oh, bugger!" Ron interrupted himself, remembering that he wasn't a Prefect this year.

Uprima turned back and said, "Goodbye, Harry. I'll try another time." She walked away to join the throng heading out the doors, a good few of them still glancing in Harry's direction.

Ron was watching them with a nervous gaze. Neville turned to look at Harry. "Wonder what that was about?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "None of this makes any sense to me," gesturing to include the crowd. "I mean, how am I supposed to deal with that?"

"Well, I do know one thing," Ron said, finally turning back to Harry. "Whatever you do—Bloody _hell,_ mate—don't make any more speeches."

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

Harry didn't make it straight to Gryffindor Tower after the Feast. Dumbledore caught his eye as he was leaving, and for some reason, Harry understood that he was needed in Dumbledore's office now. With a sigh, he headed that way, arguing with Ron futilely over the redhead accompanying him.

"Nothing's going to happen to me in the office of the Headmaster!"

"Right. And nothing's going to happen to you on the way there or on the way back to the Tower, because I'll be with you. See how that works? Easy peasy."

Harry fumed inwardly, fighting the mad urge to run a long, roundabout way to the Headmaster's office in an effort to ditch Ron. Harry didn't like this. At all. He would take it up with the Headmaster.

At the entrance to the office, Ron crossed his arms and leaned against the wall to wait. Harry stared at him, unaccountably furious, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "What if I trip and fall going up the twisty stairs, Ron? Who will protect me then?"

Ron flushed bright red to his ears, but looked away. He yelled loudly at the opposite wall, "I WILL!" Then he huffed out a breath, sniffed and mumbled under his breath, "thick-headed clot."

Harry said nothing, but turned on his heel and marched up the stairs. He tried to pause and collect himself, but as soon as he was at the entrance, the door opened for him.

"Ah, yes, come in Mr. Potter," Dumbledore's warm voice came from inside. Harry entered hesitantly, wondering how the Headmaster had gotten here before him. "Mr. Weasley sounds a bit unsettled. You haven't been baiting him, now have you?"

Harry flushed as he sat in the chair. "Not exactly. Just . . . well, yeah, I guess so. I mean," he straightened up and looked steadily at the Headmaster, "I HATE this idea that he's my bodyguard! How could you do that to him? He already felt responsible enough for me and now it's just going to be ten times worse!"

Professor Dumbledore's eyebrows furrowed and he leaned forward. "How do you mean?"

Harry pressed his lips together, then relented. "What if something does happen to me? What if he can't stop it? How's he going to feel then?"

The old man's blue eyes lit up. "Oh, I _do_ know the answer to that one," he chirruped, leaning back in his chair and looking self-satisfied. Slowly, his smile disappeared. "He will feel exactly as you felt last year after your godfather was killed. He will feel responsible."

Harry's chest felt as if someone had chunked a fifteen-stone weight on it. He swallowed and let anger inflate his lungs again. "Then why do it? Why make him my official bodyguard? How could that help _at all?"_

"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, "neither you nor I can control how others feel about us. The simple fact is that you are loved my boy, and there are many people who will grieve if you are lost. They fear that outcome every day and must rise up to face it and fight it every single day," and the sorrowful grief in Dumbledore's eyes left Harry no doubt as to whether or not the Headmaster was describing himself, "much as you yourself must do. To give those people no relief, no steps to take to prevent the loss of their loved one, is to condemn them to suffer needlessly. I simply gave permission for Mr. Weasley to do what he had purposed already to do in his heart."

Agonized, Harry burst out, "He won't even go to his own classes! He's going to mine!"

The Headmaster smiled, "That is simply one way of looking at it. I prefer to think of it this way: you and he chose the same career path and must take the same courses. Had I not matched your schedules, Mr. Weasley most likely would have found all manner of excuses to miss his classes and find his way over to yours, anyway. Now he will at least continue his education while also giving him the mental benefit of being of some use to you. In the outcome, you get a protector, he gets his education and I get the relief of knowing you will not be walking these halls alone." Harry sat back in his chair. It did make sense, in a way. Whether or not Harry wanted him to, Ron did feel responsible for his friend. Giving him a title made him feel useful. Harry looked up as the Headmaster went on.

"Perhaps you, being so familiar with Mr. Weasley as a friend, do not see the very real threat he presents to those who would do you harm." Harry's eyes widened. "Your friend has grown to be the tallest of all his brothers, with considerable strength from his Quidditch training. He has a passionate temper that his years of conflict with Mr. Malfoy have brought under strict control—well, most of the time," Dumbledore added at Harry's doubtful look. "He also has quick reflexes, a strong right hook and a good background in defense techniques, thanks to the D.A. In addition, he has an instinctive and highly developed head for strategy—defensive and offensive. In short, your friend makes the ideal companion for someone accustomed to finding himself in danger," the Headmaster concluded with a smile.

Harry shook his head, pleasantly surprised to see Ron in a new light. But then the memory of how flustered he'd been during the crowd scene came back to Harry. Ron had a long way to go before he could handle anything they threw at him. Harry sighed. "I suppose, then, that you've given Hermione something to do as well?"  
"Official researcher of the Order of the Phoenix," he said with twinkling eyes.

Harry stared, but could find no reason to object to something so seemingly safe. "Ginny?"

"Occlumency/Legilimency trainee."

"With Snape?" Harry asked, horrified.

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore corrected mildly, "and no. She will be learning from our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Joanna Haverlime."

A sudden thought struck Harry. "Neville?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Assistant of the D.A."

"And Luna?"

"Well," and here, the Headmaster's eyes twinkled, "she will be our official press liason. If there's anything Mr. Fudge feels he needs to print that is in error, we will have access to the Quibbler, to get the truth out. She will be fantastic in that capacity."

"Oh—I saw Charlie earlier—has he decided to stay, then?"

"I believe—"

A sudden flare of pain in Harry's scar clouded the Headmaster's words. Harry bent over, fighting the instant nausea, panting to breathe through it. A sickening feeling of happiness coursed through him, of ecstatic joy that knew no bounds, encased in the familiar pain of his scar.

"He's . . . happy," Harry managed to moan between breaths. "Something's . . . happened."

"Can you discern anything else?"

Harry tried to focus on the emotions ringing through his head, but could catch nothing else. "No," he gasped.

"Bring up your shield, then, Harry. Use your Procclumency if you must need," the calm voice of the Headmaster urged. Without hesitation, Harry focused on bringing up the gray shield and felt the emotion and pain fade immediately. He sighed with relief.

When he looked up, the Headmaster had a reassuring smile on his face. "Well done, Harry. Very well done."

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

When Harry stumbled out of the Headmaster's office, Ron fell into step beside him, immediately looking worried. "What's wrong?"

"My scar twinged a bit," Harry said with reluctance, then added, "Voldemort was happy about something." The use of Tom's name was enough to keep Ron quiet for a while, which was what Harry wanted. He needed to think.

"Harry?" A soft voice caught at his mind and Harry stopped. It was Susan Bones, stepping out from behind a pillar. She looked as confused and troubled as he had ever seen her.

"Susan? What's going on?" he asked, automatically concerned.

"Here—how did you know where Harry was?" Ron stepped forward, suspicion lacing his voice.

"Well, I followed him, of course," she said with a smile, a blush creeping over her round cheeks. "And I saw you waiting there, so I knew that's where he was."

"Oh," Ron said, glancing at Harry, "hadn't thought of that."

"I was just heading up to the Tower, Susan," Harry went on, feeling edgy, "was there something you needed?"

"Well . . ." she looked at Ron pointedly, "I was hoping to talk to you alone." Her gaze slid back to Harry.

"No," Ron said with firmness. "He stays with me."

"He can speak for himself, I'm sure," Susan snapped, then looked entreatingly at Harry. "Just for a minute, Harry. It'll be impossible to get you alone tomorrow."

"That's right," Ron said with a self-satisfied smile. "Impossible."

Harry glared at Ron, then turned his gaze back on Susan, who was now bouncing nervously on her feet as if she needed to go to the loo.

"Harry . . ." she implored, "please!"

"Okay," Harry agreed, stepping toward Susan, "but just right there," pointing to an alcove, "and Ron stays nearby."

"What?" Ron said in an outraged voice. "Ever heard of a _Portkey,_ Harry?"

Harry saw red. How DARE Ron remind him—

"We're not going anywhere, Ron," Susan said in an edgy voice, "You'll be able to see us the entire time."

Harry glared at Ron, biting back angry words, before walking over to Susan. "Just for a minute, Susan. I really need to get up to the Tower."

"Of course," Susan said gamely. She slid her hand around Harry's left arm, getting uncomfortably close to the antidote band.

Ron blew out a huge breath and muttered curse words under his breath. But he stayed put and only watched belligerently as they walked to the alcove, jerking his wand out.

Harry took her hand away from his arm and led her over to the alcove on the right, his anger dissolved by a sudden bout of misgiving. He trusted her, didn't he? Susan had been one of the most level-headed students throughout all of his years here, and she had an aunt in the Ministry. He was half-hoping her talk might be inside information, maybe a hint as to what had Tom so happy. He wanted to be able to count on her.

"Sorry to be so weird," Susan apologized sweetly, looking a little nervous, "but this needed to be said alone."

Harry dropped her hand as they reached the alcove. "'s all right. What is it?"

"I wanted to apologize again for not remembering what a rough summer you had," she began with a strange look in her eyes.

"Is that all?" Harry asked, looking past her to where Ron stood, wand trained on Susan, in the hallway. "There's no need . . ."

"Well, that wasn't all, really," she continued, stepping closer. Harry jerked his gaze back to her.

"Then what is it?" he asked, dread lacing his voice. His brain chose this particular moment to remember Charlie's words about what had happened on the train. "_Several young witches who should have known better . . ."_

"We never got to finish _this . . ."_ she said, then stepped flush to him and softly pressed her lips to his. Harry gasped and froze, his mind whirling. She was kissing him. A girl was _kissing him_. That was on his list. He wanted this, right? It did feel . . . good. Whoa. This was different than with Cho. Susan was sliding her hands into his hair now, opening her mouth and slanting it against his alarmingly. He had never thought of her like this—never. Beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead, and the pleasant feelings that swirled around in his stomach were suddenly tinged with nausea.

What was wrong with him? She was too close—that was it. He had to get away and brought his hands up, but—what she doing? Unzipping his robe. Wait—she had a hand into his robes—that fast! His shirt was up, and her hand was leaving a cold, burning trail down his twitching abdomen and into the waistband of his jeans—

Too close—too close—"NO!"

A pulse of pure rage detonated inside him and then she was landing on the floor, feet away, her back smacking hard. Harry's wand was trained on her, shaking.

"Harry?" Ron was there, looking between the two of them, wand pointing at the ground. "I thought you were . . ." He trailed off and turned his wand on the now-crying girl.

"That hurt!" she wailed, easing over onto her side.

Harry stepped closer, wand aimed more carefully now. His voice was raspy as he spat out, "No one touches me. No one. Got it?" Susan's eyes went wide, but there was a gleam in them just before she turned away.

Harry's eyes were watering. He could feel Ron's stare, could feel the cool air against his suddenly feverish skin, but as he watched Susan scramble away, he felt no remorse at all. The fierce, burning anger consumed everything else. He'd meant what he'd said. No one would touch him like that again.

_Ever._


	7. Don’t Touch the—!

Chapter Seven: _Don't Touch the—!_

Harry and Ron walked through the empty halls, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls and on up the staircases into the darkness that always hid in the corners and crannies at Hogwarts. Half of Harry wanted to crawl into one of those corners and pull himself together—alone; the other half felt the darkness like danger lurking just out of sight and craved Ron's companionship. The altercation with Susan had left Harry feeling shaky. He hadn't been able to explain to Ron why he had reacted so forcefully, since there was no death threat involved, but his friend seemed to understand enough, anyway. At least enough to drop the subject for now.

"I'd have done the same thing, pro'lly," Ron owned up as they started up a long flight of rickety stairs, careful to miss the trick step in the middle. "I mean, Susan Bones? Not exactly my . . . you know, type," then he looked away uncomfortably, as though getting too close to a subject he didn't want to broach. Harry sent him a sidelong glance. "So," Ron went on, "what was it that Dumbledore wanted you for, anyway?"

Harry gave a small smile. "I reckon he was testing my Legilimency progress, for one thing, and then, we also had to go over what happened on the way here." Harry cut off there, abruptly realizing that he still hadn't told Ron what had happened with the Portkey. His friend had halted, staring at him.

"_What_ happened to you on the way here?" he asked slowly. "You Portkeyed to the grounds, right? What—was there trouble?"

Harry stopped and waited as the stairs they were on rotated ninety degrees, effectively shutting them off from their dormitory for a few minutes. He muttered a curse under his breath and then looked over at Ron. "Of course there was. Tom had found out I was using a Portkey and managed to hook on through the scar. He stopped me right outside the Shrieking Shack, where there just happened to be waiting a very nice present."

"_Stopped_ you?" Ron asked, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping. "Is that even possible?"

"Apparently."

"How?"

"Dunno. The connection or something," Harry said shortly, feeling more sure than ever that he would never willingly use a Portkey again.

"So . . . what was the present, then?" Ron asked, each word coming slower than the previous.

"Manticore."

Ron gaped again. "At the bloody Shrieking Shack?" He was so loud that several students on other stairs turned to look over at them. Their stairs had now reached the third floor, just outside the door when Fluffy had been housed in their first year.

"Come on," Harry muttered, gesturing to the landing.

Ron loped off, one hand clutched to his head. "I thought you got here safe!" he exclaimed. "I thought _Charlie_ was the one in danger. Because, bloody hell, I _knew_ it was too good to hope that Malfoy would get attacked."

A wry grin appeared on Harry's face. "Well, Malfoy did, in a way."

Ron turned to look at him, eyes eager. "Was it the Manticore? Yesssssss!" he yelled, pumping a fist when Harry nodded. "Did he piss his pants—the great bleeding coward?"

Harry snorted and started walking the long away around to the Southern Staircase. "He screamed like a girl. Started yelling about having nightmares about them all his life."

"Afraid of Manticores, is he?" Ron said with glee. "Oh, this is too good. So how did he end up with you?"

"I _Accioed_ my broom."

"Brilliant!" Ron crowed. "And Malfoy was on it? I'd have given anything to have seen his ferret face when he saw the Manticore!"

"Me, too, actually," Harry admitted as they headed down. "He was Disillusioned at the time, and slammed into me before I even knew he was there. But after he raged at me for dragging him there, I reminded him of his Portkey and he took off."

Ron made a disgusted sound. "Just left you there, did he? Bastard."

Harry shrugged. "I wanted him to. He's not much good in situations like that."

Ron cursed colorfully before turning back to Harry. "So you just flew off, then? Or did you kill the Manticore?"

"Kill it? Every hex I threw just bounced off its hide. No, it would have had me if I hadn't gotten my broom in time. But yeah, I flew on to Hogwarts, and when I got here, there was a welcoming committee."

"What? Reporters or something?"

"Death Eaters," Harry corrected his friend as he took the stairs up to Gryffindor Tower two at a time, wincing as his bruises complained. Ron ran up beside him, highly agitated, scruffing at his hair.

"What the bloody hell—? Death Eaters? Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"I haven't had time," Harry said with an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, but I didn't want to tell everyone else. Just Hermione. And Ginny, I guess."

Harry summed up the rest of his adventure as quickly as possible. He couldn't give Ron a very detailed account of the fight, but was sure to mention Grawp's part and the nifty little communicator Dumbledore had put on his broom. He frowned when he remembered that he was supposed to have asked Dumbledore about that. The thought had struck him as he lay in the hospital wing that having something like that for the D.A. would be very helpful this year if anything were to go wrong, as well as special Portkeys made for use within in the castle, in case someone needed to make a quick getaway. He outlined his idea to Ron, who thought it was brilliant.

"If we key them to go to Dumbledore's office, then no matter what's happening, he'll know right away, and the person can get away as well. Good thinking, Harry," Ron clapped him on the back as they stood before the portrait of the Fat Lady. "We'll just need to make sure _you_ carry about fifteen of those, and that You-Know-Who can't get hold of you in here. 'Cause, well, no—I guess that would be even worse than staying to face whatever it was. I mean, if he could get a hold of you that way."

"No more Portkeys for me," Harry said in a tone that brooked no argument. "What's the password?"

"_Salutatory salutations,"_ Ron said promptly.

"Welcome back, boys," the Fat Lady said with a smile. "My, haven't you both grown!"

They gave her embarrassed nods and stepped through the entry. Once inside, Harry took advantage of the chaos of the Common Room with its group of overeager first years and escaped straight up to his room before he could be noticed. Ron stopped to whisper something to Hermione, who was still marking things off her clipboard, looking capable as always.

In his usual room, his dorm mates, minus Ron, waited to hear the details about his summer that had been hinted at during the feast. He dodged as many questions as he could, and gave short answers to the rest.

Dean and Seamus eventually started grousing about Harry's tight-lipped answers, and Ron, having joined them earlier, all-too-willingly picked up a full narration. Harry stood on the far side of the bed from them as he got ready for bed, more self-conscious now than ever before while undressing. He still had bruises from his encounter with the Manticore that hadn't been healed, a new, thin, jagged scar that almost went the length of his right arm, as well as the potion band and the spring-loaded wand holder attached to his wrist, none of which he had yet explained. The guys weren't watching him now, though; they were too caught up in the story.

Harry listened with a detached air as he changed into his pajamas. It was interesting, if disturbing, to hear the events told secondhand and with all the sensitivity of a wildebeest dancing the tango; Ron often got lost in the story.

"So then it was my turn to be bodyguard, and what do you know but an eagle owl comes pecking at the window and it's—

"Not _Malfoy's_ owl," Seamus burst out, and the other boys looked alarmed.

"One and the same," Ron said, nodding solemnly. The boys exchanged looks then looked over at Harry. He saw several eyes go to the band on his arm, but no one asked.

"So—so what did Malfoy want?" Neville asked nervously, eyeing Harry. "I mean, you guys hadn't been writing to each other—"

"Oh, screw your brain on, Neville," Ron said, his voice a growl. "It was a trap."

"A _warning," _Harry corrected tersely while buttoning on his pajama top.

". . . that was the beginning of a trap," Ron continued adamantly before spearing Harry with a look. "If Malfoy hadn't sent it, you wouldn't have gone outside that night."

Harry paused. "Sure I would've."

Ron rolled his eyes. "For Malfoy. Right."

Harry paused again. "Yeah." He was trying to sort it out for himself before saying more, but Ron beat him to it.

"So, in fifth year, you leave Hogwarts and the last thing you hear from Malfoy is a threat against your life."

"What?" Dean said, startled.

"Oh yeah," Ron nodded at him, "death threat, big as you please, right there in the corridor. So over the summer, if Death Eaters show up outside your house with Malfoy in tow, the first thing in your mind is: trap. Right?"

"Of course," Seamus agreed, "you'd have to be a complete loon to think otherwise. Bloody ferret."

"But," Ron added triumphantly, "you get a note warning you of danger if you leave the house from the great Slytherin prat, and suddenly, you're waffling. They know you, Harry. It was a brilliant plan."

"Death Eaters, outside his house?" Dean asked, confused. Ron obliged by telling the whole story, while Harry went over the course of events in his mind. It was true that Malfoy's note had made him question the other boy's safety at the hands of Death Eaters, but then again, seeing anyone that way—beat up and bleeding and held at wand point—would make Harry want to interfere.

"See," Ron concluded, "the handkerchief was a Portkey and Malfoy, the wanker, made good on his threat."

"No," Harry insisted, "Malfoy didn't know it was a Portkey."

Dean and Seamus snorted; Ron flushed. "Don't be a dolt, Harry! Of course he did."

"He was Obliviated."

"Oh, yeah," Ron said sarcastically, "I'm sure that happened right after he snogged Umbridge." That sent the other boys off into peals of laughter, but Harry wasn't laughing. He believed Malfoy. Ron was eyeing him as he went on, "Well, even _if_ Malfoy didn't know, his Dad was the mastermind, and used him like an arse-wipe, and it was still a bloody brilliant plan."

"Oh yeah," Harry turned away, "brilliant."

"Uh, Harry," Neville spoke up. "What was that thing on your arm?"

Harry turned back. "Poison antidote—crystallized pellets—just in case. I think they were made from a bezoar."

"Oh," the tow-headed boy looked down miserably. "I see." He seemed to be taking Harry's story very hard, as if he were somehow responsible.

"So the—the trap worked, then?" Dean asked hesitantly, not looking at Harry.

Ron continued the story on and Harry took that as his cue to leave the room, taking as long to brush his teeth as possible. He didn't want to hear anymore about what happened; he remembered it completely. That kiss tonight, and the feelings that came with it, for some reason had brought it back in brilliant detail and all Harry wanted to do was forget.

By the time he came back in, they were at the end of that episode.

"So, if it hadn't been for me and Ginny, Harry would've bled to death for sure," Ron said soberly. The looks of the other boys had turned into pained grimaces, and Neville looked as if he might cry.

"That's horrible," he managed to get out in a watery voice.

"It wasn't _that_ bad," Harry muttered, desperate to take the pity off their faces.

Ron snorted. "Not bad at all. That's why you were laid up for two days at my house without speaking."

"What?" Dean and Seamus chorused. Neville's eyes were as big as saucers.

Harry couldn't stand it. "It wasn't that big a deal. I just didn't feel like talking, all right?" He jerked away and opened his trunk, stowing his toiletries, angry for some reason. By the time his temper stopped churning, Ron was finishing the Dementor story, finally skimming now that Harry's ire was raised.

Harry stood up and glanced over, disgusted to see Neville's face in his hands and the other boys eyeing him as though he were a ghost. He glared at Ron, who returned his look with such a weary look of grief that he was cut to the heart. Ron hadn't enjoyed reliving that story at all.

"So . . . Harry is the One we've got to protect in Gryffindor that the Hat spoke about," Dean said soberly, "not that I really had any doubt."

"And that's why you've been assigned bodyguard duty, eh," Seamus added with a nod to Ron. "That's good to know, if the year's going to be anything like Harry's summer. We'll have to be on our toes; keep an eye out on Slytherin, especially Malfoy."

Neville just nodded, his head still down.

"Especially during Quidditch," Dean agreed. "Hey, now that Lee's gone and graduated, they need someone to commentate the matches. Maybe I'll try my hand at it and keep an extra sharp eye on Harry."

"You mean try your _mouth_ at it, mate," Seamus said with a short bark of a laugh.

Harry, who was startled at the thought that Quidditch might be more dangerous now, nodded quickly. "That would be great. Thanks."

"And I can keep an eye on all the girls for you," Seamus added with a sly grin. "You know, in case there's an ulterior motive somewhere in all that adoration." Harry felt his smile freeze on his face. Ron was staring at him. Grinning, Seamus went on. "And you know, help myself to any leftovers."

"Hey!" Dean said indignantly.

"And would you be wantin' him to have _all_ the girls?" Seamus exclaimed. "He's only got one pair of lips and two hands, you know." Harry went scarlet and turned away, smiling as Seamus added in a high-pitched, girly voice, "More's the pity!"

After several more randy comments and bouts of raucous laughter, the other boys told the stories of their summers, all of which had been less painful and more carefree than Harry's, though the shadow of Tom had fallen over all. Their stories helped Harry relax a bit and he felt better by the time they each pulled their hangings over to go to sleep. His ribs were sore from laughing, but sleep seemed only a breath away.

It was when he was lying still that the picture of the first years downstairs came back to him and he realized with a start that Ron hadn't been with Hermione doing Prefect duty. Harry sat up quickly, wincing at the continuing pain in his abdomen. Why wasn't Ron a Prefect? Then he knew. Harry jerked back his hangings, put on his glasses and strode over to Ron's bed.

"Ron!" he hissed as quietly as possible.

"Wha?" came a sleepy voice from the other side. After a moment, the curtains fumbled open and Ron's pale face showed up from the depth of crimson velvet. "What is it?"

"You're not a Prefect," Harry said tersely.

"No, that's righ'. I'm not," Ron said before yawning. "Now go back to sleep."

Harry stopped him from pulling the curtains back together. "Why aren't you?"

Ron met his eyes hesitantly, speaking with the air of someone stepping in front of a firing squad. "Because I'm on Potter duty—remember?" His weak smile did nothing to help.

"I can't believe this!" Harry hissed. "So you won't get to be Head Boy all because of me!"

"No," Ron shook his head, "it's not like that. Dumbledore says I'm sort of an unofficial Prefect now. No pratty badge or anything, but if I do my job well now, then I'll still be up for Head Boy when it's time, see?" Ron said hopefully.

Harry calmed somewhat, but didn't give in completely. "You _liked_ that pratty badge."

"Not as much as I like having you around," Ron pointed out easily, then yawned again. "Go back to sleep. Who bloody well cares if I'm a Prefect or not?"

Harry hesitated, but couldn't see any resentment in Ron's attitude. If Ron didn't mind, then why should he? "All right, then," he said softly. "Go on back to sleep."

Harry padded back over to his bed and sat down. He wasn't sure if—no, he was sure that he _didn't_ deserve a friend as good as Ron, someone who was putting his whole life on hold just to be around him and protect him. Apparently, while he'd been training those last few weeks before school, a lot of decisions had been made without him. Harry pulled off his glasses and retreated back into bed. He glanced over and called out, "Thanks, Ron."

A sleepy, _"Forgettaboutitmate" _rumbled out from behind the curtains.

Harry pulled his own hangings around, got under the covers and relaxed. Sleep came quickly, escorted in on the gray screen in Harry's mind.

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

He should have gone up to the Infirmary to get those last healing spells. That was the first coherent thing Harry thought after waking. His ribcage was stiff and uncomfortable and his entire body was sore. He wondered why until the memory of the previous day overtook him: Portkey squeeze, brush with a Manticore, collision with a Malfoy, a life-or-death ride to Hogwarts, then the episode with Susan that had taken a powerful surge of magic to deal with. All in all, he guessed it just made sense. Turning over with a groan, he suddenly realized it was quiet in the room, but some sort of noise had awoken him. What had it—

"Uh, Harry," Neville suddenly asked from over by his bed. "It's a quarter of eight. You've got to get up and get your schedule. I brought you a piece of toast. Here," and there were footsteps over by his trunk.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled and started to get up. First day of school and he was already behind schedule. Why hadn't Ron woken him? He opened his bed hangings just as the sound of feet came pounding on the stairs outside the room. Someone was running full-tilt, as though something terrible had happened. Harry's stomach lurched. Not again—another normal moment twisting into a nightmare. Anything could have happened. But his scar wasn't hurting at all . . .

By the time the door was flung open, Harry was on his feet, wand drawn, heart pounding.

"Mate!" It was Ron standing in the doorway, clutching a napkin full of breakfast to his chest, staring at the drawn wand. "What—" he looked around for an attacker, drawing his own wand awkwardly, "dammit, where's—"

Harry, breathing again, lowered his wand and Neville took the opportunity to squeak out the door behind Ron, mumbling something about classes.

"Neville?" Ron turned around to call after him, perplexed, but received only a mumbled answer. Harry felt a flush creep up his neck as Ron turned to stare at him again. Harry pushed his wand back into the wrist holster and cleared his throat. Suddenly, all his aches reappeared, aggravated by his quick motion, and he bit back a groan.

"Merlin, what happened?" Ron asked again, finally relaxing enough to lower his wand.

"Where'd _you_ go?" Harry asked grumpily, loathe to admit he been spooked by nothing but pounding footsteps.

"I met Hermione for breakfast early, and I didn't think you'd sleep this long," Ron sounded slightly defensive. "I came as soon as you woke up." He paused a moment before coming over. "Why'd you have your wand out?"

Harry turned to his trunk and picked up the napkin with toast on it, shifting it to his bed. Then he opened his trunk and got out his toiletries. "I was half-awake when I heard you running toward the door, and it sounded like—like something was happening and—never mind. How'd you know I was awake?"

"Huh? Oh—this," Ron reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small, oblong stone the color of cornmeal. Harry stepped closer to see. "It's a dragon kidney-stone, takes real well to spells. Charlie spelled it to you, so I'd know how you were doing. So far, it's working great."

"How does it work?" Ron chucked into Harry's hand and he turned it over, fascinated, if a little bothered by the lack of privacy it represented.

"Well, it's not too complicated. Temperature and color tell the different states you're in. That color right there means you're hungry, which is why I brought all the food, of course. If it's that color and gets hot, you're _really_ hungry. Let's see . . . purple is sick; blood-red is for hurt; black is for unconscious; sleeping is kind of blue and waking up is yellow. I like that one," he confided, "very nice. It's normally just a grayish-limey green color. If it ever goes back to that color, then—well . . ." Ron checked himself and trailed off awkwardly.

"Right. Could have used one of those this summer. When did Charlie do all of that?" Harry'd been told during those last weeks at the Burrow that some extra protections were being made to keep him safe, but this was the first time he'd seen any yet.

"Dunno exactly. He came by when I was standing outside of Dumbledore's office and gave it to me."

Harry stood straighter. "So Charlie did decide to stay then?"

"Oh, yeah," Ron said with a grin. "Dumbledore tried to get him to leave, but couldn't exactly order him to. So Charlie's hanging around, keeping an eye on the students. He said to call if you needed him. I meant to tell you all of this last night, but then Susan came up and . . . well, it flew out of my head."

Harry had to smile at the thought that Charlie was staying around; it made him feel better, somehow. "I'll be quick," he promised Ron and then strode quickly to the bathroom.

"So who brought you toast before me?" The redhead called after him.

"Er—Neville, I think," Harry yelled over his shoulder.

"Yeah, well, I brought you _three_ pieces of toast _and_ two pieces of bacon!" Harry brushed his teeth and washed his face as quickly as possible, returning to the room at a jog.

"See the grea' fing about bein' a bo'yguar'," Ron said with a full mouth as soon as Harry reappeared, "is tha' if you're la', I'm la', but it's not my fau'." He grinned and swallowed. "Not a bad deal, all the way round."

"Yeah, but I don't even know _if_ I'm going to be late! I don't know my schedule yet," Harry lamented as he grabbed clothes and robes out of his trunk.

"Yeah, we've got to get a move on. McGonagall's giving out schedules already."

Harry pulled on some trousers with a jerk. He couldn't help but feel that Ron really _could_ have woken him up earlier. "So what were you and Hermione meeting about, anyway?"

"Oh," Ron straightened up and paced over to the door, "well, I wanted to see what she thought of . . . how things were going. You know."

Harry finished dressing, suddenly angrier now that he had a full picture of why Ron had left him in bed. He turned and straightened his covers with such a jerk that toast and napkin went flying. "So what _did_ she think of my behavior last night?" With an aggravated sigh, he peered under the bed.

"Nothing. I mean, yeah, okay, I told her what happened with Susan, but only because I wanted her to . . . you know . . ."

"Try to figure me out?" Harry glared at Ron from the floor where he had been kneeling; the toast had disappeared.

"Of course not," Ron hastily added. "She's just worried about you, mate, and you know, she's . . . smart. She thinks of loads things that I don't." The look on Ron's face made Harry sigh. Ron couldn't help it. It was just part of the way he thought. Harry stood up and grabbed his robe, sliding it on expertly.

"So, what did Hermione decide? Is Susan off her rocker," he asked in a nonchalant voice, looking down at the zipper as he pulled it up, "or am I?"

"She . . . wants to keep an eye on Susan," Ron said quietly. "She says Susan shouldn't be acting that way; that it's . . . too forward for her. She's going to poke around a bit, see if she can figure something out, you know."

Harry could fill in the blanks himself. With a deep breath, he reminded himself that his friends were only trying to help and that they had spent a long summer worrying about him. It was only natural that they had . . . bonded. But the pang in his stomach wasn't very nice. Harry shook it off.

"You were right, Ron, last night. Next time I ask to be alone with somebody, _especially_ a girl, hex me."

Ron looked startled, then grinned, "You got it, mate."

Harry ate the piece of bacon Ron hadn't eaten yet as they headed downstairs and talked lightly of Quidditch plans. Katie Bell was captain this year—her last, and things were a bit up in the air after the disastrous last year, when Harry hadn't been able to play at all after attacking Malfoy. Of course, that ban had been lifted, but Ginny was already the Seeker. It helped that she wanted to try Chasing, but Harry worried slightly that the only spot open for him would be something he didn't want. Ron wouldn't hear of it.

"Katie would have to be completely nutters not to put you in at Seeker. And Ginny won't care," he said earnestly, "she really is good at Chasing. We tried her out a few times and she was really fast!"

It was apparent that the breakfast rush was quite over at they reached the Great Hall. The Heads-of-House were walking amongst the students, giving out schedules and discussing problems. Still up at the Faculty Table were the Headmaster, Madame Hooch, Professor Haverlime and Hagrid, who waved cheerily at Harry and immediately started making large motions, as if trying to do sign language.

Harry caught Ron's sleeve, "Hold on, what's Hagrid saying?"

Ron squinted to see that far. "Well . . . either he's bought a big box and wants to . . . stuff you inside or . . . no, that's gotta be it. Big box. Apparently wants to make a present out of you. Oh. Hey! I know. He wants you to come see him later. Yeah, yeah, that's it!"

Harry nodded in agreement. Those large, waving arms seemed to be indicating he wanted them to visit. Harry nodded to Hagrid and moved on. "There's got to be a more secret way of communicating that," Harry muttered.

"Yeah. Why didn't he just use an owl?" Ron shook his head as they resumed their walk over to the table. Harry noticed a red head swiveling round for a glance at them, and then Ginny was quietly making her way toward them. As her brown eyes met his, his stomach quivered unexpectedly.

"Harry!" Katie Bell had just called out his name, and everywhere, heads turned his way.

"_Harry!"_

"_He's here!"_

"Hi, Harry!"

The sound of voices swelled around them, and then another curious sound rose above it—wings. But not just a few, or the usual whirring of the mail call, but . . .

"Look sharp, Harry," Dean called out loudly from the Gryffindor Table.

"Duck!" yelled Seamus, "or you'll get . . ." and his voice was drowned out by the flurry of owls over Harry's head.

Ginny reached them just in time to put up her wand and yell a spell. The red light hung there, suspended, then exploded into a round, curving disc over Harry's head. When all the owls dropped their parchments, packages and scrolls, they fell onto the shield, bounced and rolled to the ground on either side of him. It was raining letters for almost half a minute.

"What's happening?" Harry tried to yell to Ginny over the noise. She was the closest to him now and bellowed something in return, her eyes still fixed on the shield. Harry paused, watching her. _Did she just say "fan mail?" _

Ron and Hermione were outside the shield, keeping the crowd back, using a few stinging hexes when necessary. Two more shields suddenly sprang up to block the students, cast by Professor Dumbledore and Professor Haverlime. By the time the letters had ceased, the Hall was completely silent.

"_Bloo-dy hell, Harry. _When's the rest of your mail getting here?" Ron said weakly. There was a second more of silence, then laughter rolled through the crowd. Ginny ended her shield, but caught hold of Harry's arm when he tried to step out of the circle.

"Don't!" she said with a fierce note in her voice.

"Nicely done, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger and Miss Weasley," came Dumbledore's patient voice as he headed in their direction, canceling his shield with a flick of his hand. "And thank you for the back-up, Professor Haverlime," he gestured to her grandly and she nodded in return, her shield disappearing. "Now if you will please move aside," he said gently to the crowd of students in front of him. They parted in a rush. "And don't touch _anything_." With another wave of his hand, the whole deluge of parchments and packages disappeared. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. There must have been some sort of error. Those _couldn't_ have all been for him.

Dumbledore was standing just in front of Ginny now, who was paler than Harry had noticed at first. In fact, Hermione and Ron were standing close together now, both looking extremely relieved. Harry turned to Dumbledore, puzzled.

"Quick thinking, indeed, although, Miss Weasley, there was already a spell in place to sort Mr. Potter's mail and check it for nasty hexes or harmful charms. Had the mail been allowed to fall any closer to him, they would have all been drawn up automatically and sent to the Owlery where Mr. Filch has the honor of sorting Harry's mail himself." Harry looked askance at Ron here and found his mate with raised eyebrows, thinking the same thing—that Filch might be likely to overlook a few things if they would hurt Harry. Filch had a vendetta against any rule-breakers who got off with anything less painful than the rack.

Dumbledore continued on, "Only letters and packages that are without evil intent will be allowed to come to you, Mr. Potter, and only after they are cleared. Today's mail may take a day or two to sort. I trust that is no problem?"

Harry shook his head vigorously, half-hoping that most of it _would_ be questionable, to keep it from being his responsibility. How would he ever get time to read all of them? "Professor, why _did_ I get so much mail? That's never happened before."

"Students, return to your tables, and if you have completed your breakfast, then let's move on toward class, shall we?" With disappointed looks, the students turned away in a wave. Harry could tell by the long-held glances in his direction that some of them had hoped to speak with him, and he was glad the opportunity had been thwarted. "Now then, Harry, most of your mail this summer was directed here to Hogwarts, unless it was from one of your known correspondents. Some of that mail was left over from then. The remainder of it, I'm afraid to say, is my fault," he said with a sad shake of his head that was belied by the twinkle in his eyes. "Ms. Skeeter's article has sent quite a shockwave through the wizarding community, rife with quotes from your rather ingenious speech last night." Harry let his head fall forward and squeezed his eyes shut. Why had he mouthed off like that?

"I'm afraid, Harry, that you are once again, famous, but this time, it is for your determination to do right and your unflinching ability to speak the truth even in the face of unspeakable evil. It was only right that your words make it out to the public, where it could do the most good, and," here he leaned down to capture Harry's eyes with his own, "where it will irritate Tom the most." He chuckled. "I must confess—I laugh every time I think of Tom reading that article." And he did laugh now. "Well done, Harry. Oh, well done! _Fifty points to Gryffindor!"_ he called out as he crossed the floor. Applause rang out from the Gryffindors and they pounded on the table.

"_Way to go, Harry!"_

Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table out of curiosity and found them once again divided. The Twitchtie girls were standing by the table, watching him with sober faces. One of them nodded in his direction. Most of the other first years were already heading out the door to go to class, followed by the other younger years, a few glancing toward Harry. The older students were still lounging at the table, all pointedly ignoring him. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

Harry turned to his friends only to find Ginny with her arms crossed over her chest, eyeing him defiantly. "I just thought it would be better to be safe than sorry, and if it made you mad, then . . . I don't care."

Harry blinked. "I'm not angry. That was a _brilliant_ shield, Ginny. When did you learn it?"

"Over the summer," she said, her posture slowly defrosting. "But if I'd just let the bloody letters fall, they would have disappeared anyway. I thought you were in danger," she said sheepishly, her cheeks tinged pink. _Danger?_

"Yeah, me, too," Ron said with a loud sigh, "I doubt Parvati will forgive me for that stinging hex very soon. I just didn't want her to touch any of the letters."

"Well, it was worth it. We didn't know about the safeties on Harry's mail," Hermione said in a matter-of-fact voice, "and a Portkey doesn't have to be keyed to one person. It can take anyone who touches it."

Harry's mouth opened in an "O." _Portkeys_. The whole lot of them had been worried about a Portkey-letter, and he'd been oblivious. It burned a little bit that they felt he needed to be protected, but then—well, that was a fruitless train of thought to follow. When was someone _not_ trying to kill him? Odds were that someone had already tried at least once this morning.

Harry said a sincere thanks to each of them in turn. Hermione beamed at him; Ron flushed and Ginny flushed _and_ beamed.

Then Professor McGonagall approached with a small smile on her lips. "Well, Mr. Potter. You've already earned Gryffindor fifty points from the Headmaster before the term even officially starts. Here is your schedule," she handed him a parchment, "which is the exact same as Mr. Weasley. Your eight O.W.L.S. were very, very impressive due to the circumstances in which you were functioning. Even an 'O' in Potions, Mr. Potter—splendid! I'd just like to say, 'Congratulations!' and say further that the day you become an Auror, I fully intend to find Dolores Umbridge's grave and dance a jig right there on top!" With a last smile, she turned to Ron, where her face immediately went back to its rather natural, grim expression.

"Now, Mr. Weasley, you have been allowed in Potions expressly to keep an eye on Mr. Potter, but I expect you to work hard and do the homework like the Gryffindor that you are. I don't need to tell you how uncomfortable it was for me to be forced to ask Professor Snape to make an exception in your case. It was _not_ pleasant and I do not want you to make either Professor Snape or myself live to regret it. Is that clear?"

Rom nodded with wide eyes.

"Good. Miss Granger, I expect nothing less than your best this year, as always. With your twelve O.W.L.S., you have already been a credit to you house." Finally she turned to Ginny. "This will be quite a year for you, Miss Weasley. Get plenty of rest, eat well and study hard. Don't let this bunch pull you into any of their shenanigans. I highly desire you to remember that you are, all four of you, schoolchildren, and that, _by God_, is all we expect you be!" Her voice shaking with sudden emotion, Professor McGonagall made fierce eye contact with them all. As she reached Harry, her face seemed to pinch inwards and she took a shuddering breath before nodding to him. She turned and exited, limping, her silver-topped cane flashing as she hobbled on.

Not one of them would have dared to correct Professor McGonagall, but as they stood looking at each other, Harry saw the same sort of thoughts running through all of their minds. His friends had stopped being just schoolchildren after last year at the Ministry, when they faced torture and death for the sake of their friend.

Actually, Harry reminded himself, Ginny had stopped long before that, when she was a first year and encountered Tom's diary. Harry, as well, had stopped being a child in his first year, when he made the decision to stop Tom before he could get to the Philosopher's Stone because he no one else was there to do it. Harry shook off Professor McGonagall's words. If the One that fulfilled the Prophecy was just another schoolchild, then the whole world was doomed.

_Author's note: The title of this chapter comes from the fact that Harry was correct and someone **has** tried to kill him at least once this morning that _I_ know of. The spectre of Death was standing over his shoulder and cackling for almost a full minute before he was thwarted. Whew!_


	8. Fair Winds Turn Into Foul

Chapter Eight: Fair Winds Turn into Foul

Ron was nodding in approval as he read off their schedules. (They'd had to run after Professor McGonagall and get them after she completely forgot to pass them on.) "Newt-Level Transfiguration at nine, Newt-Level Potions at eleven and Newt-level Care of Magical Creatures at two. Not a bad schedule, except for the fact that almost all the classes are completely mixed."

"Yeah, and the fact that we have to spend two hours in the dungeon with Snape," Harry said darkly.

"Snape will be nicer this year," Hermione said conclusively, looking back and forth between the two of them. "From what I've heard, he actually enjoys teaching the higher-level classes."

"Well, as surprising as that is," Harry finally spoke up, after trying hard to imagine Snape enjoying anything other than torturing his students with impossible instructions, slanderous ridicule and open derision, "he's never had to teach a higher level class with me in it."

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. "It's time for class. At least Potions isn't for another two hours."

"Hurrah," Ron said despondently as he stood.

"Ron, it's the beginning of term," Hermione snapped at him. "Would it hurt you to try to be excited about school for just one day?"

Ron just grumbled, "Why isn't _Harry_ getting a lecture? He's not excited, either."

"Yes, Harry, that's true," Hermione said with a nod in his direction. "Both of you need to improve your studies this year. I know you have a lot on your minds, but really . . ."

And as the three of them moved toward the door, Hermione grew brisker and more authoritative with each second. Ron, however, grew gloomier, as Hermione outlined her plans of study for each afternoon after classes. She was determined to keep an outline of all the information given in class every day, so that studying would be less difficult and she would retain more. It was a good plan, Harry guessed, but after six years of knowing Hermione, he still didn't understand her. How could anyone care about learning stuff that much?

It had never seemed that important to him, and now, all he could think about was if any of the stuff he learned would actually come in handy when he faced Tom for the last time. If it didn't benefit him directly, was it even _worth_ going to class? Hermione would say, "YES!" But given a choice, Harry would take "alive-and-failing-three-classes" over "dead-but-would-have-graduated-top-of-his-class" anyday.

He realized that he'd been silent too long as Hermione slowed down to walk beside him. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Harry glanced over at her before mumbling, "I'm fine."

She glanced around the hallway before drawing closer to Harry and lowering her voice. "Ron told me exactly what happened with Susan, and I'm even more shocked than you were. I think you were exactly right to push her away, and if she was hurt, then that's her fault." Hermione's eyes were narrowed and her face so grim that she was a bit scary at that moment. "What I want to know before I go talk to her—"

"No! Hermione, don't—"

"I know you're uncomfortable with it, but you don't have to be anywhere near me when I do it."

Harry stomped down on his temper and ground out the words, "I don't need you to—"

Hermione rushed on in a low voice. "I know you don't, but the truth of the matter is that I thought I _knew_ Susan and I wouldn't have expected her to act like that. Either she's changed a good bit over the summer, or she bears serious watching, Harry. I'm going to find out which. Now, all I need to now from you is whether she has ever seemed to show an interest in you before." Harry shook his head, checking with Ron, who shrugged. "Ever flirted?" Harry stared at her blankly. "I mean, has she put her hand on your arm and leaned in to whisper in your ear, or giggled like Lavender whenever you came near." Hermione imitated the whispering lean, fluttered her eyelashes at him in a peculiar way, and Harry suddenly had a realization.

"The giggling thing . . . that means they're flirting with me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Good grief, yes! Although, truly, Lavender is just giggly about _all_ boys, so I wouldn't take it personally with her. Has Susan ever behaved like that around you before?"

"No. Not at—wait," Harry paused as he remembered her during the crush after his speech. She'd been really funny then. "Yeah, she . . . er—blushed a bit when she was talking to me right after the Sorting and all that."

"Oh," Hermione said in a disappointed voice. "Well, still, she hasn't ever tried to kiss you before, has she?"

Harry shook his head and started walking to Transfiguration again, hoping Hermione would take the hint. She did, after declaring that she would go to Dumbledore with her findngs, and the subject was dropped, for now. Harry was pleased with that, since classes were sure to be extremely taxing.

"Ron," Harry said just as they reached class, "where was Ginny headed?"

"Uh, she has Care of Magical Creatures first thing," Ron said, reaching to open the door for his friends to enter. "Last I heard her say was that you should do an independent study on the nature of dreams, if you're planning on sleeping this late every day."

Harry colored slightly and Ron burst out laughing as he walked by. "Been having a few of those kinds myself lately, mate."

"Oh, honestly," Hermione said in a muffled voice.

Transfiguration was a two-hour review of six previous years of study, all done in a room full of students from all four houses, including a tired-looking, barely-smirking Malfoy. But Harry barely had time to contemplate the pleasant reasons for Malfoy's lack of insults as they were instructed to transform a hair pin into a beetle, a beetle into a pin cushion, a pin cushion into a turtle and finally, a turtle into a goblet. At the end of the four transfigurations, the final goblet was judged on not just uniform shape and color, but bonus points were given for artistic merit.

"Artistic merit?" Ron whispered furiously to Harry when McGonagall was on the other side of the room helping Terry Boot capture his scuttling pin cushion. Both of them already had turtles of a sort on their table, looking . . . well, for lack of a better word, shell-shocked. "How am I supposed to make a nice-looking goblet out of a lopsided, slightly soft turtle?" Ron poked at it with his wand, which sank into the turtle's velvety shell and produced a squeak, which startled Ron.

"Is it _supposed_ to do that?"

"Ron," Hermione said in a low voice, "stop hurting your turtle! If you don't like the way it looks, it's your fault. And, anyway, it doesn't matter what your turtle looks like, it's the will power within the spell that makes the goblet what you want it to be. Just _concentrate!"_

Harry, listening to them, decided to try the gray screen to help him focus better. Looking at the slightly-gray and extremely big-headed turtle in front of him, he figured he had nothing to lose. Pulling up the gray screen in his mind, Harry blocked all extraneous thought, setting one hand on the dodgy-looking turtle sitting dumb on the table in front of him, and holding up his wand. On the gray screen, he conjured an image of a beautiful silver chalice, etched with flowing scrollwork hiding running wolves and their mates howling at the moon. The stem arced inward toward the middle, then flowed back out to a rounded, pearl-studded base. With a dull, satin finish, it was very simple and appealing. Harry paused. The way it came to him, completely designed and whole, made him wonder if he had seen it somewhere before.

With that image firmly in mind, he waved his wand. The slow rush of power from his wand was different than normal, and the turtle was frustratingly slow to transform. But Harry didn't lose concentration and when the final changes were made, the chalice Harry had held in his mind was now there, sitting on the table. He smiled and reached for it just as he heard several other gasps around him.

"Mr. Potter—" Professor McGonagall stopped before his table, one hand held to her chest, "May I see your chalice, please?"

Harry hesitated, then passed it over to her.

"Good job, Harry," Hermione nodded at him, then turned back to her own small, perfectly formed turtle with a determined expression.

Ron was looking at the chalice, shaking his head.

Finally, Professor McGonagall looked up. "Class, this is a stunning representation of the art of Transfiguration. Highest marks, Mr. Potter."

> > > > > > > > > > > > > >

"This is the worst potion ever to grace a cauldron in my Newt-Level Potions, Mr. Potter. Kudos on bringing my teaching career to an all-time low," Snape said in that well-articulated, malicious tone reserved for Harry. "Apparently, reckless bravery and consummate skill in navigating the wonders of celebrity life does not make one adept at Potions. No, when part or all of one's gray matter is taken up forming speeches to make ready to give your adoring public, well, then your Studies can only come a dismal second or third."

There was the usual patter of laughter from the Slytherins, a few overeager high fives at Harry's expense, though Malfoy seemed to be less than involved. Ron was growing angry beside him as usual, tensing up and clenching his fists, but this was what Harry had been expecting from Snape—stinging criticism leading into a tirade on the danger of pride and recklessness concluded by a scathing review of the speech he'd been led into making by Dumbledore. To hear Snape talk, you'd think Harry had got up there and read off a list of his most becoming attributes, followed by a demonstration of bare-chested, well-oiled prowess.

". . . only the most self-delusional type of person would treat his fellow students to such a one-sided display . . . "

But, as Snape was surely realizing by now, as spittle flew from his lips, his words were having less and less effect on Harry. The gray screen that had become so useful was helping him block all response to the embittered words. Instead, Harry felt an aura of peace overtake him. Snape was a git, but how could anyone be so mistaken? Did _he_ even believe what he was saying?

"Five points from Gryffindor for ignoring a professor!"  
Harry perked up at that. "Sorry, _sir_, hadn't realized that you were actually done," he said with the smallest amount of irritation possible. Snape just glared down at him with black, fathomless eyes. Harry met his gaze easily, with no challenge, no anger and saw the oddest flicker in the man's eyes. The hate . . . wavered, and for a moment, Harry saw a vision of Snape bending over him at Malfoy Manor, and he remembered how the man had risked his life to get him his wand and the potions that had given him enough strength to fight, and how almost kindly he had seemed at that moment—the lone voice of protection in that hour of horror.

Snape recoiled as if struck.

Harry blinked, startled until he realized that Snape had been reading his mind. To have that moment flung back in his face, when he was at his formidable, most detestable self . . .

Snape had whipped around almost immediately, and was slowly walking toward the front of the room. Harry was not trying to read his mind, but could feel from his seat that the man was desperately trying to pull himself together, and for the first time, Harry wondered if that hated persona of the Potions Master was merely a role he played. What other reason could there be for such a delay in his sarcastic wit? The dark figure at the front of the room was standing deadly still, as though he could not face the room of students at present.

Harry looked over at Ron only to find a Cheshire grin on his mate's face.

Beyond him at the next table, Hermione looked at Harry with wide eyes. "What did you do?" she mouthed at him. Harry shrugged. Beside her, Parvati Patil gave Harry a nod and look that clearly said, "Good job!"

Slowly, whispers grew in the room until Snape's voice rang out, "BOOKS OUT!" At the command in his voice, the students all scrambled to get their texts out of their bookbags, several knocking implements to the floor from their potion-making. "CHAPTER ONE. READ NOW!" Without turning around, Snape strode toward his office, opened the door and entered, slamming it shut behind him.

At the other end of the room, Malfoy jumped to his feet, his voice dripping venom, "What did you do, Potter?"

Harry shook his head, at a complete loss to explain away something so strange. "I didn't do anything," he finally said, "I was just . . . thinking of . . . this summer. That's all."

Draco's face lost all color, and he looked around the room as if they were accusing him. Then he sat, abruptly.

Harry watched the Slytherin and exchanged looks with Ron.

"Harry!" Seamus was leaning over his table to whisper to him, "what did you do to the two of them? And, can you do it every day?"

The class tittered and giggled behind their hands, all except the Slytherins, who had started reading almost immediately. Harry saw several of them shooting dirty looks in Malfoy's direction, but he was too busy reading to notice. Or so Harry thought, until Blaise's venomous look was followed by a jerk that must have been a vicious kick to Malfoy's shin beneath the cover of the table. Malfoy's body clenched in reflex, and his eyes widened slightly, but for all intents and purposes, he appeared to keep reading.

Harry felt a surge of anger against Blaise, but shook it off. Malfoy deserved whatever his mates dished out now that his body guards had deserted him. In all fairness, they hadn't passed the O.W.L. for this class, but neither had they been sticking by Malfoy at other times, either. In fact, they seemed to have been ignoring him.

Harry turned back to his book, determined to do the work assigned now that no one could predict the man's behavior. More likely than not, Snape would find a way to punish Harry for what happened today. But while he read, his mind kept fogging over and puzzling back over Malfoy's problem—his sudden transformation into a Slytherin with no family and no fortune with which to prop him up. He was at the bottom of his House's food chain. It might have been something the prat needed to experience badly, after all the abuse he'd dished out over the years, but being powerless and bullied was something Harry knew too much about to treated lightly. It wasn't too many years ago that he had been in a similar situation, made a social leper by his cousin's heavy-handed dealings, completely unable to fight back against those who lobbed insults and accusations at him—powerless.

But not anymore . . . .

Harry allowed himself a sudden, brief smile—well, maybe more like a lopsided smirk. If Snape's reaction just now had been a correct indicator, Harry had just mastered Occlumency.

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

Lunch was eventful that day, interrupted on two accounts, both of them events that reverberated through the halls of Hogwarts for the remainder of the year. The first came mid-way through Harry's meal.

He was feeling rather good about things after his first Potions class of the year. Snape had not made a reappearance in the dungeon, nor did he show up at his usual place at the Faculty table to dine. Also absent, Harry noticed with a niggling of curiosity, Professor Dumbledore was not there, either. Professor McGonagall was, however, in her usual spot, engaged in a hearty discussion with Hagrid and Professor Haverlime. All three of them were shooting him rather approving looks, which made Harry think they must have been discussing his turtle-to-chalice Transfiguration project. The inner parts of him were beginning to glow, he felt so good.

In fact, Ginny remarked to him that he looked like a cat who'd fallen into a vat of cream, which led into a fun discussion of Harry's escapades for the day by his class mates. Ginny seemed most impressed by Dean's account of the interaction with Snape, especially when she understood, by whispered comments from Hermione and a finger signal from Ron, that Harry had actually used Occlumency to block Snape and only show him in his mind what he wanted him to see.

Ginny leaned over the table and fixed Harry with a very knowing smile. Harry smiled back, expecting admiration and getting ready some humble, deflecting words to say . . .

"If you want that big ego of yours deflated any, you know where to find me," she said sweetly.

Dean and Seamus howled with laughter. Even Ron snorted.

"Well, I didn't—I didn't say _I_ thought it was so great!" Harry protested.

Then Ginny giggled at him, throwing him off completely. Harry turned to Hermione, eyebrows raised, which set Ron off laughing. Then she laughed, too. It seemed like everybody knew what was going on except him.

Harry was giving up and digging back into his steak-and-kidney pie when a lone owl shot through the Great Hall, causing quite a disturbance among the students. Owl Call was always in the mornings, so it was with bewilderment and great curiosity that everyone watched its course. The first years were all looking confused. Many students automatically turned to look at Harry—Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Neville among them—and Harry stared right back at them.

**_"What?"_**

"I don't think it's heading for him," Ginny said tersely.

"No, it's not," Hermione agreed, giving Ginny a look. "But it must be an emergency of some kind, if it couldn't wait for Owl Call in the morning."

"Right," Harry said automatically. "Hey, that's a Howler!"

And it was. The word was repeated across the hall many times as the bright, obnoxiously red letter came into view gripped by the dark barn owl's talons. The owl swerved in the direction of the Slytherin table. Gasps were heard, and many feet shuffled as those who couldn't see stood, trying to get a better view. Harry was trying desperately to see who was sitting at that end of the table when someone bolted up and ran.

It was Malfoy.

"What's he think he's doing?" Ron asked everyone loudly.

"_Run _Malfoy!" Pansy shrieked. "You coward!"

Then another rushing figure cut Malfoy off, and he fell sprawling on the hard stones. He rolled over and had a staring contest with Blaise Zabini, who was now standing over him with a practically feral grin on his face. "I think you'll want to take this one, Malfoy." Then the zooming owl was upon them, and the Howler dropped in Malfoy's lap.

Malfoy stared at it as the envelope shook, steamed and hissed. He looked more shaken than Harry had ever seen him, but finally he made a move to grab the envelope and toss it into the air as if the very paper itself might be poisoned.

The Howler screamed as it made a high arc in the air, then exploded. The proud, harsh voice of Lucius Malfoy filled the air, and Harry forgot to breathe.

"LONG LIFE TO THE NAME OF MALFOY AND **DEATH** TO ITS ENEMIES! YOU FILTHY, PURILE _VAGABOND—_HOW_ DARE _YOU! HOW _DARE_ YOU CONTINUE TO ATTEND HOGWARTS WITH CHILDREN OF HONEST HERITAGE AND NOBLE ASPIRATIONS AFTER BETRAYING ME, DISHONORING MY NAME AND TURNING YOUR BACK ON _EVERYTHING_ I HAVE TAUGHT YOU. HOW DARE YOU CONTINUE TO MASQUERADE AS A _MALFOY!_ YOU HAVE **NO** **NAME** AND ARE NOW NO BETTER OFF THAN A MUDBLOOD."

Harry listened to every word, rage building within him so that he trembled—not with fear, but with power—fierce power that ached to blast Lucius Malfoy into ash. His wand was clenched tightly in his hand, slick with sweat.

"LET IT BE KNOWN THAT I WILL DO _EVERYTHING_ IN MY POWER TO HAVE YOU _THROWN_ **_OUT_** OF HOGWARTS. AND THEN I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND REVENGE WILL BE MINE, YOU NAMELESS—"

Harry jerked to his feet, sending the raging torrent of power through his wand with a primal bellow. Time seemed to slow and the only thing that existed was that—that _thing_ with Lucius Malfoy's voice. Hatred oozed out of every pore of Harry's body, propelling and filling the jet of red light with deadly intent. Halfway there, the streak of red caught flame. A gasp of either horror or amazement went around the hall, but Harry felt only satisfaction as students at the Ravenclaw table hit the floor to get out of the way. The Howler was still spitting out curses as the ball of flame hit and with a loud, satisfying _whoosh_, the envelope went up in a roar of blue fire and disappeared.

Harry breathed several deep breaths in and out before he could hear clearly above the loud thumping of his own heart. Beside him, Ron was also standing, wand out, looking stunned. Ginny and Hermione were trading looks, their expressions grim. Awed sighs and exclamations were still breaking across the hall, and Harry began to feel exposed as everyone stared. He sat down and tucked his wand back up his sleeve in as little motion as possible. Ron lowered his wand beside Harry and shuffled a bit, looking fiercely around the hall.

Finally, as if he could stand it no longer, he yelled, "Well, what did you expect him to do? It was a _very_ _mean_ letter!" Then he sat down beside Harry with a thump and shifted in his seat again, as if trying to get comfortable himself with what just happened.

Hermione was the first to speak. "Harry, what spell was that?"

He met her eyes briefly, "_Incendio. _I think."

"Oh," she said in a surprisingly matter-of-fact voice. "Well, not only did you _not_ say the incantation out loud, but you also put so much power behind it that you caught the very air on fire."

"_So,"_ he said back, a bit defiantly. He caught glances being exchanged around the table. "It was a very mean letter," he echoed Ron weakly.

Professor McGonagall's strident voice came from the Faculty Table as she stood to her feet, "Ten points from Gryffindor and a detention with Filch, Mr. Potter, for dangerous spellwork in the middle of the Great Hall. And Mr. Zabini—ten points from Slytherin for that _outrageous_ display."

Harry's heart sunk. But Zabini, who was walking away from Malfoy with a smug smile, only nodded and smirked in Harry's direction. Malfoy was still on the floor, not moving.

"Who cares about the points, Harry—worth it to see Lucius Malfoy's Howler blow like that," Dean said in an awed voice.

"Yeah," Neville agreed, looking even more nervous than usual, "I don't think I've ever heard one that bad before."

"That _bad?"_ Ron asked with an incredulous look. "I don't think I could have ever come up with anything more perfect in my entire life," he said in a supremely happy voice.

Harry turned to stare at him.

"Ron," Hermione hissed, "how can you say that?" She leaned over the table to speak more quietly, but the urgency in her voice was loud and clear. "You know what this means to someone like him. He's no one now. He has no name, no inheritance—nothing!"

Ron, scowling, said, "How can you defend him? I know it's bad, but come _on!_ Is there anyone who's paraded around their name and their pureblood status more than Malfoy? How absolutely perfect is it that everything he's boasted about for six years was just pulled out from under him? His Dad said he was worse than a . . . well, a _you-know._ I mean, it's horrible, yeah, but . . . you've _got_ to see how perfect it is." The pleading tone of his voice softened Hermione's look.

"Well, be that as it may, if Harry's right, then Malfoy, or whatever you want to call him now, was _disowned_ for trying to warn Harry this summer. Isn't that right?" She turned to Harry, a worried expression on her face.

Harry blinked, but then nodded, his stomach feeling as though someone had just dumped a live coal into it. Malfoy's warning owl this summer had been intercepted by his father and that _had_ started it all—the Portkey, the torture—everything. Malfoy hadn't really helped him, but he had tried. Beside him, Ron was starting to argue back, but Harry's mind was drifting. In spite of himself, he was hearing that voice again and it was as if he were still there in Malfoy Manor—in agony, ashamed of his helplessness.

"_Have you ever imagined what revenge feels like, Harry?"_

"_Have you . . .?"_

"_Harry?"_

"Harry!"

Harry suddenly came to with a violent shudder and realized everyone at the table was looking expectantly at him. Going for the obvious, he mumbled, "I'm fine." He shifted in his chair and waited for the inevitable harping about to begin. Second time in two days he'd gone barking mad. Hermione'd never let him off this time. Maybe he could cut out now; he'd almost eaten enough. Then he felt everyone's focus shift around him and he turned to see Malfoy standing unsteadily to his feet.

The Prat moved like someone fifty years older. He actually swayed, lifting his head to meet the gaze of all those staring at him with something of a mix of horror and defiance. He didn't seem to notice Harry among them as he turned and walked slowly out of the Great Hall, to the echoing laughter of the Slytherins.

Harry's gut twisted again, in spite of the fact that the git was the person he most hated in the world—well, next to his father.

"Come on, Harry," Ron said with disgust, "He wasn't trying to help you when he sent that owl. It was a set-up! The-Prat-Who-Cannot-Be-Named was lying from the start. Ginny," Ron turned to her, ignoring the driving aughter from down the table, "_you_ know what I'm saying, don't you? There's no way he's telling the truth, right?"

"The-Prat-Who-Cannot-Be-Named," Dean said, wiping his eyes, "oh—that's a good one, Ron." Ron turned, grinned, and gave him a casual high five. Beside them, Seamus was laughing so hard that he was snorting pumpkin juice out of his nose.

"Right, Ginny?" Ron goaded her.

"Shut it, Seamus," Ginny snapped at him, "you're spraying pumpkin juice like a faucet." He sobered up pretty quick, grabbing the napkin Hermione thrust in his direction. Ginny paused, looking over at Harry with a pensive pucker between her eyebrows. "I don't know. Harry's a pretty good judge of people—"

"And I'm not?" argued Ron.

"Right," Ginny confirmed easily. "But . . . I don't know what to think. I've always hated Draco Malfoy, but . . . he's not Draco Malfoy any more, is he?"

Harry felt another dull ache. It was odd to try and grasp the idea that Malfoy, or whatever he should be called now, was just as high up on Lucius' hit list as was Harry.

"Well, think whatever you want. All I know is that now he has even _more_ reason to hate you," Ron said pointedly before stuffing his mouth with a forkful of potatoes. Harry saw a few worried looks passed around the Gryffindor table. Neville cast a sympathetic glance at Harry and then looked down at his full plate of food. He pushed a pea around with his fork.

"Well, then," Hermione said in a brisk voice, "we'll have to keep an eye on him and make sure we know what he's up to."

Harry perked up at the tone in her voice; she sounded as though she was about to launch off into a plan. But just at that moment, all the food on the Gryffindor table vanished, along with the plates, silverware and goblets.

"Bloody _hell!"_ Ron exclaimed, as if this was the last interruption in his meal he could stand, "I was going to _eat_ that Yorkshire pudding! All right," he stood up and turned around to face as much of the stunned Hall as he could, "who did it? I want my food back now!"

"I don't think they can help you, Ron," Hermione said, tugging him down by the sleeve. "Everyone's food has been taken, even the Faculty."

Harry, already watching the conference of teachers at their table, helped tug Ron back down. Hagrid was standing, ready to walk off, and Professor Haverlime was obviously placating him. Professor Sprout was already on the floor, moving rather quickly to the Ravenclaw table. Professor McGonagall determinedly limped her way down the stairs, calling out for those nearby to stay seated as she headed up the main aisle and to the doors. Professor Flitwick was making his way to the Hufflepuff first years. Some of them were looking over at Harry and whispering, of course.

Harry turned quickly away, but caught a lot more heads turning to look at him. He looked back down at the empty table and stared at its surface grumpily. _He_ hadn't done it.

"Maybe you should say something, Harry," Ginny whispered to him.

Harry looked up at her, "Like what? _'Don't stare at me; I didn't do it?'"_

"Don't be stupid," she snapped. "Say something calming, like you know Dumbledore would if he were here."

"I'm sure he'll be along in a minute," Harry said after staring at her as if she were mad. "And if something needs to be said, one of the Professors will say it. That's what they're _here_ for."

Ginny raised one very finely arched eyebrow at him, as if to say, _You know that's not true._

But it _was_ true! Sure, Harry was the One, or whatever, but did that mean he had to go all Lockhart and take up public air whenever he could? He wasn't going to _do_ it and they could just bloody well sign someone _else_ up if that's what they wanted.

His gaze skipped over to the Ravenclaw table, where several students were apparently having the same conversation with Cho Chang, who looked as if she were teetering on the edge of giving in. She pulled her arm away from overeager girl beside her—a Twitchtie, it looked like—and started to stand.

Just as she did, the doors at the end of the Great Hall opened and Professor Dumbledore walked in, accompanied by Snape, a nearly-full flask in his hand, his dark robes billowing behind him. They moved rapidly into the Hall and stopped midway, meeting McGonagall there. There was a brief, whispered conversation and then Dumbledore turned outward.

"My dear students, we are so sorry to have interrupted your meal this afternoon. Your food will be returned shortly to you. Let's all stand, shall we?" The students exchanged looks, as one doubtful as to the true nature of the interruption. Harry was among the first to stand, and he studied the Headmaster during the loud clatter as everyone re-situated themselves, standing and facing the middle of the room.

Professor Dumbledore's face was serene, but there was a fierce sharpness about his gaze that Harry found startling. "How are we all feeling today? We're at the halfway point of the first day; perhaps we might take a little assessment. Anyone experiencing a loss of feeling in their limbs? Any excruciating pain in the abdomen? Anywhere else? No? That's nice. How about vomiting?" Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape were turning in opposite directions, looking around the room as intently as if they were using Legilimency on every student in their scope. Harry felt Snape's eyes on him like laser beams and he flinched when words were suddenly cast into his mind, _"Take the poison antidote—now, you fool!"_

Snape's mouth hadn't even twitched and his gaze had moved on, but Harry had no doubt he had heard correctly. With sudden dread blossoming in his stomach, he flicked his wrist to get his wand into his hand. Ron's head whipped over and he silently got out his wand as well. Harry shook his head when Ron's eyes met his, but his friend didn't put away his wand.

Harry whispered, _"Venenum."_ The trigger word started the spell and with a small sucking sound, a pellet of the universal antidote appeared on Harry's right palm. He popped it into his mouth and let the bitter taste envelope his tongue. While Dumbledore continued calling out symptoms that progressively grew lighter in seriousness, Harry quickly called out more pellets and gave one to Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Dean. Seamus was reaching for his when the Great Hall doors again opened, this time with a bang, and Madame Pomfrey stumbled in. Heaving great breaths, she nodded at Dumbledore and fell back against the door, resting while she got her breath. Harry gave a pale Seamus his pellet and noticed that Hermione had a tight grip on Ron's arm.

Harry's gaze traveled back over to Ginny, and he was horrified to see how glassy her eyes had gone. She looked pale as a ghost. Suddenly, fear crushed his chest. He'd given her an antidote, but only after Ron and Hermione. What if it wasn't in time? What if—

"Ginny?"

She didn't answer; she swayed on her feet.

"Ginny!" Before he knew it, Harry was halfway over the table, reaching for her. "Ginny—what is it?"

Startled, she blinked as if waking from a trance and then stared at him. Harry, one foot on the bench behind him, one hipbone carving itself into the table, felt as if it took her years to answer in a tremulous voice, "I'm fine, Harry. I'm fine." Then her gaze wandered around and took in all the people looking at the two of them, and she swiped at her watering eyes. Leaning over suddenly in his direction, Ginny gave Harry a quick kiss on the cheek. Without blinking, she said, "It's just that . . . I'd die if anything ever happened to you." And in the brown warmth of her eyes, Harry saw that it was the absolute truth. He felt hands on his arms, pulling him back across the table, but he had eyes only for Ginny and the way that pink flush on her cheeks seemed to make her whole face glow.

Then his feet were back on the ground and Ron was jerking him around whispering, "Sorry, mate, but look . . ."

Professor McGonagall stood at the door. Striding into the room with a quick gait was Charlie Weasley. His face was sober, and he was heading right for Harry.

That was one of the longest minutes of Harry's life, watching the bearer of obviously bad news make his way across the long room to him in the silence that had overtaken the room. His mind tossed out possibilities and just as quickly discarded them. It was useless to wonder who had been attacked by Tom, or what trail of blood had been left by Death Eaters, or what new threat loomed on the horizon. Harry squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and cleared his mind. Whatever it was, he could handle it.

But when Charlie stopped in front of him and gestured Hermione over to stand with Harry, surprise was the foremost thought in Harry's mind. Hermione grabbed Harry's hand, squeezing tightly, and Ron eased into the space behind them. "Harry, Hermione, I'm sorry," Charlie began in a breathless, low voice. He was obviously loathe to say more, but what came out of his mouth next was probably the last thing Harry expected to hear:

"It's Dobby—Dobby the House Elf—he's dead. He was found an hour or so after doing his usual clean-up duties in the Gryffindor rooms, clutching a piece of toast in his hand. He'd only taken one bite."


	9. An Ill Wind

Chapter 9: An Ill Wind

"You may be seated, students. It appears that the beginning-of-term jitters hasn't gotten to us yet." Professor Dumbledore's light-hearted voice echoed about the room, but Harry didn't hear any more of what was said.

_Dobby can't be **dead;** I haven't even seen him yet!_ His eyes searched Charlie's, hoping for a reprieve of some kind, while his mind wrestled to understand. There'd been no warning whatsoever. It couldn't be that simple, that easy for someone to die just floors away from you, before you'd been able to make time to see them, though you were planning to. But Harry's heart didn't need time to reason it out at all. It plummeted down into the deep grooves already worn by grief. _Sirius_.

A sharp pang made him bow his head and all at once, hope left him. This was what he had to look forward to—a year of this, a year of loss—unless he could get rid of Tom before then.

"Stay with me, Harry. The toast was poisoned," Charlie was saying, "and we need to figure out where it came from before anyone else can get hurt. Did you see anyone bring it up? Surely they didn't do all this work and then just leave it lying around for _anyone_ to eat."

"_I_ did," Ron said in a hoarse voice from behind Harry, "I mean, I brought up some toast, but we both ate it, remember, Harry? It couldn't have been _that_ toast, right? Because we ate it and it was fine. Right? I mean, you _do_ feel fine. You do, right?"

Harry frowned. Something was niggling at his mind. _Toast_. Someone had brought him—

"Neville," Ron said suddenly, jumping on it like a dog on a bone. "You said that he brought you a piece of toast, too—remember? But you never ate it. I saw it there on your bed."

Harry whipped around and stared at Neville with such sudden fury that the boy recoiled. He was a traitor, like Wormtail.

"Bloody hell," Ron continued in a horrified voice. "I—I almost ate it while you were in the loo."

Charlie cursed low under his breath. "Better not tell Mum about that."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said in a quiet wail, grabbing on to his arm, seeming too overcome to speak for a moment. "You—you don't think Neville could have tried to poison Harry on purpose, do you? Oh, poor, poor Dobby!"

Ron swallowed hard, blue eyes wide. "Imagine if I'd just taken one bite . . ."

Harry felt his lips draw into a grimmer line and a huge, clenching fist encircle his chest. As Charlie strode over to consult Professor Dumbledore, Harry's gaze returned to Neville: his friend of so many years, yet timid and shy; so like Wormtail in his years at Hogwarts. The thought at first had shocked Harry, but now he was wondering how he'd never seen it before. Neville was just like Peter Pettigrew. Harry's wand flicked into his hand again and he moved with purpose toward the Gryffindor table.

"Harry—no," Hermione said sharply, grabbing his arm. "We have to find out what happened first; hear his side of the story. We could be _wrong_, Harry!"

Ron tugged on his other arm, but said nothing. Harry let them hold him back for now, but his hard gaze was leveled at Neville, whose face was changing from horrified to something slightly more determined. He stood, even though Dean and Seamus were pulling him back down.

"Don't be daft," Dean counseled.

"Give him time to cool down!" Seamus said in a placating voice.

But Neville kept moving, awkwardly stepping over the bench and walking around the table to face Harry. Harry squared up to face him and flicked his eyes to Ginny. She sat watching with wide eyes, shaking her head slowly, looking dumbfounded. Harry felt furious; Neville hadn't just betrayed him, he'd betrayed all of his friends.

"Harry, calm down!" Hermione cautioned him, "we don't know for sure what happened."

Ron stepped closer in behind Harry. Neville's wand wasn't drawn, but Harry only gripped his all the harder, ready for anything. He half-wished Neville _would_ try something and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt the traitor he was. But Neville, his head down, only walked more slowly as he got nearer.

"_Mr. Potter, stand down,"_ Professor Dumbledore cast into his mind. Harry didn't move. His wand wasn't up, anyway. They could damn well do what they pleased, but he wasn't going to let another traitor get away with murder. He'd already made that mistake with Pettigrew, and the rat had helped the Dark Lord return and people had died. _Sirius_ had died. Red sparks jutted out of the end of Harry's wand, causing a few students to cry out. The Slytherins loved it.

"Do him in, Harry!"

"Yeah, a Gryffindor battle-to-the-death!"

"Shut it!" Ron yelled.

Harry ignored them.

"Harry," Charlie called after him as Neville stepped into range, "wait." Harry could see him jogging their way.

"C'mon, Potter. Let's see you turn _Long_bottom into a short one!" Pansy Parkinson cackled.

"That's quite enough!" Professor McGonagall snapped out from behind Harry. "Ten points from Slytherin." They groaned.

Harry didn't care one way or the other. He had eyes only for Neville. Slowly, the blonde boy's head came up and his nervous eyes fixed themselves on Harry. He shook his head, which was already trembling, and barely formed the words, "I didn't do it, Harry. I don't even know what Ron's talking about—about the toast. I didn't do it."

_Yeah, right._ Feeling all the eyes in the room turn back on him, Harry said nothing.

Hermione pleaded with tears in her eyes, "_Listen_ to him, Harry."

Harry glared at her, surprised that she was not on his side when the poison had almost killed both he _and_ Ron. But it was hard to be angry with her when she was so upset, and the mantra _Listen to Hermione_ took up residence in his head. He nodded reluctantly.

Charlie stepped in to take charge. "Glad I didn't have to put you in a Body Bind, Harry. Now, let's all head up to Dumbledore's office. He's going to fetch Snape and meet us there." Harry's stomach gave a twist at the idea of Snape being thrown into all of this. Charlie turned to Ron. "I've got bodyguard duty. You go on to class, right?"

"What," Ron blustered. "No way!"

"Take a break," Charlie snapped. "One of you has to go to class and get the notes for the others."

"So send Hermione!" Ron all-but-yelled, stepping closer.

"Shut it, _Itsy_, or I'll shut it for you," Charlie said tersely, leaning into Ron, who went red. "I need Hermione to deal with the House Elves. Winky's in quite a state and I don't know what to tell the others. Some of them are even talking about wanting clothes. You think you want to come and handle that?"

Harry and Ron exchanged a look.

"Oh. Well then," Ron said finally, his color looking more normal now, "okay. I'll go. I can see what Hagrid wanted, at any rate."

Harry nodded at him, then stowed his wand up his sleeve. Ron walked over to Charlie, wand out, and gripped his wrist with one hand. Under his breath he muttered something like _"Fraterdum Singultus." _A shimmer of silver followed the spell, and Ron turned back to Harry.

"Don't go anywhere without Charlie, right?"

Harry nodded, wondering vaguely what that spell had been. Ron's head quirked to the side, as if he was trying to figure something out, then he gave a nod and headed back to the table. Voices began to fill the hall, muttering and conjecturing, as the crisis was over.

"This way," Charlie gestured to the hall doors. "Neville, you first."

Harry approved. That way, he could keep an eye on his ex-friend. A sudden flare of anger made him clench his fists. He would make Neville pay if he had turned traitor. He would make sure everyone knew what would happen to anyone who hurt one of Harry's friends while trying to harm him. But suddenly and vividly there came before his mind the scene in the Shrieking Shack when he'd felt the same way, facing down Sirius, ready to kill him for betraying his parents. He'd been dead wrong that time.

Harry shook his head. This was _different_. And back then, once he'd found out Pettigrew was the real betrayer, it _had_ been wrong to convince Sirius and Remus to let the rat go. It _had!_ Harry could feel Hermione's eyes on him as they walked along and he realized he'd been shaking his head like a nutter. He forced himself to stop.

They exited the hall just as it was coming back to life, though the tables were as empty as before. Harry could hear the professors making explanations that the food would be returned as soon as it was cleared by the House Elves.

Immediately after they gained the hallway, Charlie pointed out to Neville a side passage that Harry hadn't noticed before, just before the first stair. They took the narrow, winding way and stopped short at a portrait of a gypsy in a bar doing a rather sensual dance for some wizards in farming gear. Something about the men's faces gave Harry the feeling the farmers visited this portrait often.

"Wouldn't think this one goes to Dumbledore's office, eh?" Charlie said with a slight grin. _"Lascivious Leprechauns,"_ he called out to the gypsy. The music stopped and the gypsy turned to Charlie.

"Oh, eet ees a Weasley boy, ees et not?" Her black eyes flashed. "Eet has been a too long time seence I have seen one of you here een thees hallway. But I teenk now, perhaps, there are too many of you for a rendez-vous?"

Harry looked over at Charlie, wondering exactly what the Weasley brothers had been up to at Hogwarts in the years before Harry had come. Charlie was flushed.

"All right, all right, just let us through to Dumbledore's office—please."

"Oh. Why deed you not say so?" With a sudden clap of her hands that sent her many bracelets jangling, the gypsy opened the portrait.

"Thanks," Charlie muttered.

"My pleasir," she called after them.

Harry angled his body to fit through the somewhat narrow opening and found himself at the base of a spiral staircase carved ornately from a dark wood. The sconces on the wall threw shifting shadows and patches of light across the stone walls, giving the tall, cylindrical passage the illusion of constant motion.

Harry started up after Hermione, and listened as Charlie threw an explanation over his shoulder. "That's Bill's fault, always flirtin' with the gypsy girl. He had her convinced he was always up to no good. And Fred and George probably didn't help with that, either."

"How did Bill find this place?" Hermione asked in awe, taking in the height of the ceiling, which sloped away into landing after landing of candlelit stone. "It's not in _Hogwarts: A History._ I'm almost positive the map said this room was used for storage."

"It is," Charlie said as he mounted, "unless someone needs a quick passage to the Headmaster's Office. You know, it's only there if you need it." Which explained why it hadn't shown up on the Marauder's Map, Harry decided as Charlie went on. "Bill knew it on account of Head Boy privileges, of course, which he always took advantage of. His own rooms, own bath—disgusting, it was," he snorted. "Quidditch heroes don't get nearly the same perks, you know, Harry. Just girls."

Harry found himself smiling at that and was pleased to notice that his chest felt less constricted now. He could breathe easy for the first time since hearing that _voice_, just in time to climb this mountain of stairs. Hermione hung back to whisper to him.

"You're doing it again, aren't you?" Harry glanced over at her, puzzled. "You're _not_ speaking." Harry paused, realizing that it was true and feeling instinctively that it was necessary. He'd broken out in a rage after Sirius died, and he couldn't let himself do that again. Silence was his control. Harry shrugged and kept walking. Hermione kept pace with him for a minute, tossing a few warnings at him about needing to be able to tell what had happened when they got to Dumbledore's office. Harry finally gave her a _look_, and she backed off. That, more than anything else, told him that she was truly worried about him.

She moved up to Charlie, and asked him about the name he'd called Ron. "Was it 'Itsy'?"

It was, and Charlie explained he'd nicknamed Ron and Ginny "Itsy" and "Bitsy" when they used to always try to tag-along with him and Bill. He still used it sometimes when Ron needed to be put in his place. Harry had to smile again. Then Hermione asked about the spell he and Ron had performed, but Charlie wouldn't explain.

"Just switching bodyguards, that's all," he said more than once.

Hermione fell silent then and over the next few minutes, Harry had plenty of time to contemplate Neville's role in the poisoning. And try as he might, even as angry as he was, he just couldn't force himself to honestly believe that the gentle, almost painfully loyal boy would _willingly_ harm him. The Imperius, however, was a definite possibility, since Neville had had such trouble in fourth year throwing that curse off when Moody-alias-Crouch had put it on him. A more remote possibility was someone using a Polyjuice Potion, but Harry really didn't want to consider that. It was hard enough trying to figure out who to trust this year without wondering if everyone was who they said they were, too.

They reached the top, silent except for the ringing echoes of their footsteps and walked through the ornately carved door one at a time, Charlie going in between Neville and Harry. After winding their way through one more very narrow tunnel, there was a doorway guarded by two more gargoyles, identical to the ones guarding the main doorway to Dumbledore's office.

"_Gargantuan Gobstoppers,"_ Charlie said readily, and the gargoyles stepped aside. The door opened with a vertical whoosh and Harry followed the others inside, hanging slightly back to think. The fierce anger that had flooded him at first was gone now. He was almost certain Neville would know nothing about the poison and there would be no one to punish, no one to take responsibility for Dobby's death. Harry could feel a well of hatred and despair bubbling up inside.

He took the only seat left in the room with a loud flump and scrubbed at his face with his hands. With the barest flicker of interest, he realized that Dumbledore and McGonagall were already present in the room and seemed to be studying him. A horrible lump had lodged in his throat and all he wanted to do was escape back down the hallway before he did something he regretted.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Today, we have lost a good friend to Hogwarts, a pioneer of the House Elf cause and one who never ceased to care for others. Dobby was an example for all of us in loyalty and in diligence. Grief and weeping at his loss are to be expected." Harry's jaw clenched and he tried to swallow. "But even more so, keen investigation and swift justice are to be pursued. The Ministry of Magic does not investigate the deaths of House Elves, but we at Hogwarts cannot let this crime go unpunished. With great speed and delicacy, and with all the power of mind we can spare, let us delve into the past and see for ourselves what happened so that we may prevent its passing again."

Neville was nodding, looking eager to delve away. At that moment, Harry hated him. His scar seared and a rumbling feeling of nausea and unpleasant happiness ran through him, but he just closed his eyes and waited until they dissipated. Tom liked his thoughts, these thoughts of hatred and despair. With a wrench, Harry pulled up the gray screen in his mind and felt the blessedness of relief.

"Harry, would you permit us to use the Pensieve and see for ourselves what you remember of this morning?" Harry, startled from his thoughts, opened his eyes and nodded.

Dumbledore stood and went to the cabinet against the wall. With a gesture, the doors opened and a flood of gray, shimmering light unfolded across the ceiling and dripped down the walls. The Pensieve moved to the center of the room at Dumbledore's directive and alighted on the floor, its contents sloshing thickly. Once there, the Headmaster gestured for Harry to stand beside him.

"It is a painless procedure, Harry, and needs only for you to focus on the memory. Perhaps if you use your Procclumency screen, the memory will be clear enough."

Harry closed his eyes again and for a moment, continued to enjoy the blankness of the dove-gray screen, welcoming its soft, iridescent warmth. He wished he could wrap himself up in it and just be alone for a while; he wondered what would happen if he did.

"Harry, when you are ready, visualize the scene from this morning when you first became aware that someone had brought you the toast. We need to see as much detail and as little bias as you can provide. Remember it _exactly_ as it happened."

And Harry did. He remembered waking up late, feeling stiff and sore from the day before and being surprised by Neville's voice just outside his bed hangings. That should have seemed strange enough to begin with and Harry wondered how he could have ever ignored it. But the memory went on, with Harry's over-the-top response to Ron's pounding footsteps, and then him going to the loo—ohno—and then having the whole conversation about Susan—oh_ help_—before the toast actually fell to the floor—

Harry jerked and opened his eyes. If the toast hadn't fallen, he would have eaten it. He was going to, but he got mad at Ron and jerked the covers and the toast had disappeared. Harry shook his head, feeling stupid.

"Is that it, Harry?" the Headmaster said in a kind voice.

Harry looked up at Dumbledore with pained eyes, mutely asking if it had to be shown. The Headmaster nodded without a word, then put his wand to Harry's head. A stream of light clung to the wand when he pulled it away and there was a curious shifting sensation, as if the contents of Harry's mind were re-settling themselves. It didn't hurt, but it felt strange and made him want to scratch the inside of his head.

"Very good, very good," Dumbledore said in a low voice. "Have a seat, Harry, and a lemon drop," he gestured to the tin on his desk. In a whisper, he added, "You most likely won't enjoy this part."

Harry paused, looking at the contents of the tin morosely and finally taking a lemon drop. He popped it in his mouth as he took his seat, and his taste buds went into overload. They weren't just lemon drops, they were super-sour lemon drops and the citric acid on them was well into the second layer of skin on his tongue before he was forced to chew on it. As soon as he did, a soothing, sugary syrup erupted from its center and for some reason, he felt calmer. _Hm_. _That_ was why Dumbledore was always offering those things. Now, with clarity, Harry could see that what was about to happen was more ironic than tragic. It had to be a payback—yeah, that was it—a cosmic retribution of sorts for the time Harry had given into curiosity and viewed Snape's embarrassing memory in the Pensieve. Now a roomful of people were going to see an unguarded moment of his, and he felt like he'd rather do a month of detentions with Snape than suffer through it.

As the Headmaster said a few words preparing everyone for what they were going to view, Harry started to wonder where Snape had gone off to. He would have had a field day with this, snarking out comments on the futility of trying to get Harry to focus on anything, smirking as he waited for the curtain to come up and reveal Harry's idiocy for everyone.

Then Dumbledore was finished speaking and he gestured to everyone to come closer. Hermione put a hand on Harry's arm as they walked forward, joining Charlie, Neville, McGonagall and Dumbledore around the Pensieve. Harry tried not to look at their faces. He sighed, half-hoping Neville would have a go at him now and interrupt the Pensieve session while simultaneously proving to everyone that he was guilty. But no, Neville was sandwiched in-between Charlie and Professor McGonagall, now looking as uncomfortable as Harry felt.

Dumbledore directed everyone to touch the rim of the bowl and Harry noticed the look of awe on Hermione's face. He could tell she'd been dying to use one of these. Then her eyes met his and her free hand took his firmly. Harry took a deep breath, staring down into the gray, swirling depths of the pool and then they were flipping forward, through a kaleidoscope of color and shapes until they landed in . . . Harry's bed. Of course, in real life, there wouldn't have been room for all of them in there, but here, they all managed somehow to be standing inside the bed hangings, looking down at memory-Harry on the bed.

Harry winced and muttered a curse. There he was in his pajamas, just waking up and groaning about his sore muscles. He looked like such a wimp, all bed-headed and skinny in his pajamas. Memory-Neville was speaking now, sounding . . . normal, if a bit nervous. But then, he always did lately. Didn't he?

Memory-Harry was still turning over in bed, stretching out his muscles painfully and present-time Harry bit back a groan. At least Snape wasn't here to see it. _Although . . ._ Harry's gaze shot to Dumbledore as he watched the bedclothes ripped open. Would the Headmaster show the Pensieve memory to Snape? Dread laced Harry's stomach. Of course he would. Harry cursed again, then realized he should be paying attention.

In the memory, Ron was just entering the room, hands full of food, and there Harry stood like an utter prat, wand out as if fighting off hordes of Death Eaters. Neville was flipping through his books over on the side, fumbling curiously as though looking for something. Present-Harry frowned, wondering if that was really what he had been doing at the time, or if that was something Harry's mind was filling in since it was blank. Then Memory-Neville was heading out the door at a rush, obviously in a hurry to get to somewhere.

Harry looked over to where Present-Neville was watching the scene and shaking his head, looking amazed. Back over on the trunk was the piece of toast and Harry watched as his memory-self picked it up only to move it and to later knock it to the floor. He felt an utter clot. The only other surprising thing was how many times the episode with Susan was mentioned, which made Harry want to crawl under the table. But finally, painfully, the memory was done and they were all back in Dumbledore's office, horror etched on every face.

"That was entirely too close for comfort," the Headmaster said, looking gravely at Harry. "As usual, though we do our best, Harry, there are insidious dangers which creep through the cracks. Your Universal Antidote Pellets would have reversed the poison immediately, had you maintained enough calm to remember them. _Venenum_, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, sir. I remember," he said in a subdued voice.

The Headmaster gestured to the chairs. "If you would all please be seated again." Only Harry and Professor McGonagall sat. Hermione clutched one of Harry's shoulders fiercely, as if she could keep him safe by holding on. Charlie was pacing, wand clenched in his hand, face set like granite. His eyes kept straying to Neville, who was thunderstruck, rooted to the ground where the Pensieve had been. Dumbledore was maneuvering the Pensieve back into the closet when Hermione could wait no longer.

Her hand gave a convulsive twinge on Harry's shoulder and she threw the words out at Neville hurriedly. "That wasn't you, was it? You wouldn't _do_ that to Harry, would you?" Neville was still frozen, so she went on, looking at the faces around her. "Last year, Neville risked his life to save Harry's. He went with us to the Department of Mysteries and he stuck by Harry even after he was injured and tortured and—"

"Miss Granger," began the Headmaster, who was now watching carefully, but Neville cut in.

"Of course I wouldn't try to poison Harry!" he almost yelled, his eyes looking suspiciously wet. "Of course not! He's my friend! Of course I wouldn't do that to him! How could I, when he's got so many people after him already, and he's done nothing but do the things I _couldn't_ do?" Harry stared at him, not quite understanding and Neville flushed. "I mean, I'm not as brave as him and I don't know what to do all the time like he does, and—and, well, somehow, it was nearly me. All those people, all of them, could be after me." He grew so pale that Harry was concerned. "I found out about it this summer, Harry, about the Prophecy. Great-Uncle Algie told me on my birthday that I could have been . . . the One."

And then it all slid into place. Harry suddenly understood the strange looks he'd been getting from Neville—looks of guilt, something he must have been feeling for not being The-Boy-Who-Lived.

"When I found out, I just wanted to hide. But . . . I couldn't, not when Harry's being so brave," Neville looked down, abashedly. "So I got a new wand—I studied all month long—I practiced—just to be of some use to Harry this year!" Neville took a breath, now looking Harry right in the eye, standing straight and completely unlike the round-faced, forgetful boy that Harry had known for so long. "I swear, Harry—I swear I did _not_ betray you. I _haven't_ and I _won't_, and whoever did that is going to pay as soon as I find out who it was who took my face. I wouldn't do that to you, Harry. I _wouldn't."_

And Harry found that in the face of such earnestness, he could do little but believe. There was a sudden lightness in his chest and he took in a deep breath that he hadn't realized he'd needed. Despite himself, his vision grew watery and his mouth turned up at the corners. The pain of betrayal fell blissfully away. Instead of betrayal, he had true friendship, and another person he could count on.

"I believe you, Neville," Harry said simply, and he felt everyone in the room stir in relief.

"As do I," Professor Dumbledore broke in with a familiar twinkle in his eyes. "And it is an unusual and wonderful conclusion. However, if you did not bring the toast to Harry, then I'm afraid we must consider the possibility that another Gryffindor has used a Polyjuice Potion."

"A Gryffindor?" echoed Harry. "But it doesn't have to be, does it?"

"They had to have had the password," Hermione said, sitting slowly into her chair. "Although, if he came in with some other Gryffindors, who just thought that it was Neville and so didn't make him say it, they might have made it incredibly easy for him, whoever it was." She paled. "It has happened before."

"And that is the precise reason that we must follow the rules, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "It must be the practice of the dorm to only allow one person at a time from now on, so that each person may prove who he or she is by their knowledge of the password. And I believe we are down one Prefect in the Gryffindor Sixth Year dormitory, Albus, as I have been reminding you all week."

The Headmaster nodded gravely. "Yes, Minerva, and I think now I have found my trustworthy Prefect for the Boys' Dormitory. Tell me, Mr. Longbottom, what do you think your Gran would say if you wrote home that you had made Prefect?" Neville's jaw dropped and the Headmaster smiled merrily. "Wonderful!"

"Well, I suppose that would be perfectly acceptable, Albus, though goodness knows why you had to make such a production out of it," Professor McGonagall said a bit crossly. "One might think that you didn't trust my boys at all."

"The Marauder's Map!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, his mind taking a sudden turn. "That's the answer! If I had looked at the map this morning, I would have seen the true name of the imposter and I would have known not to eat the toast." Quickly, he explained the amazing properties of the map.

"Merciful heavens," Professor McGonagall said in an undertone, "that would take an enormous amount of ingenuity and power to construct something of that caliber. Who did you say made the map?"

"The Marauders," Harry answered, feeling a stirring of pride, "a group headed by my father and Sirius Black, also including Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew."

"Astonishing. And you say you have this map," Professor McGonagall gave the Headmaster a stern look, as though he were responsible, and then requested to see it.

"Indeed," Professor Dumbledore sighed, "I'm afraid we may have use for that artifact, Harry, more use than you at the moment. That map is singularly helpful in the way that it sees through Polyjuice Potion. The current aides I have access to do not detect that type of Dark Magic, and so have been rendered useless."

"And whose fault is that," spoke up a portrait from the wall for the first time—former Headmaster Phineas Nigellus." I told you several times that divesting the Headmaster's Office of all Dark Devices would run you to ruin, and here you are!" he said with smug satisfaction.

"Ah, Phineas," Dumbledore said amiably, "I hardly think we are at ruin."

A sniffing noise came from the portrait. Phineas had turned away. "A matter of semantics. Ruin is upon you, whether you recognize it or not. The castle is rampant with spies and plots and all of them center around _that_ boy. You would do well to immobilize him, attach him to your robes and be done with it."

Harry's anger flashed. But before he could speak, Dumbledore had lifted a hand to stop him and Harry choked down on his words. "We are hardly unaware of the seriousness of the situation, Phineas. But I am of the opinion that Harry was prophesied to be the One because he is the very sort of person that can take a dire situation such as this and not only handle it, but excel in the midst of it and push others along with him, as has been evidenced by the amazing proclamation tonight by our very own Neville Longbottom." He gave Neville a warm smile, which the boy blushingly returned. Then the Headmaster turned his approving smile on Harry. "They may try to knock Harry down, to put the fear of Voldemort into him, and to keep him from his destiny, but they will not prevail. They cannot. He is much stronger and more determined than they know, indeed, more than even Tom knows."

Heat was flaming the sides of Harry's face, and yet he could feel a cold chill going down his spine. How could anyone have that much faith in him? How could he possibly justify it—do all those wonderful things, when he was just himself—just Harry? But Hermione was smiling at him and nodding with shining eyes, and there wasn't room in Charlie's proud gaze for doubt. Nor was there any in Professor McGonagall's eyes, only a strange-but-familiar approval and dawning respect. Neville was smiling, nodding at him, smearing away a tear.

"That's right," he said, "they won't prevail, Harry. Not if _we_ have anything to say about it."

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A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! I wish I had more time to answer them all, but alas! I do read them, promise! Please review so that I know how I'm doing and what you'd like to see.

_Fraterdum Singultus.—"Brothers until the final breath."_


	10. Something's Missing

Chapter 10— Something's Missing

Unfortunately, once retrieved, the Marauder's Map did not reveal any clues to the identity of the Neville impersonator. They all bent over the map, but found no one that should not be at Hogwarts, and no one that was severely out-of-place.

"Alas, here is where the map fails us," Dumbledore said with resigned air. "Even if the perpetrator was still masquerading as Neville – which I think is highly unlikely – the map would only show us his true identity, not the person he is pretending to be." After that initial disappointment, he instructed Harry to carry the map around with him. "If you keep it in its blank form, then no one will be suspicious. Just be sure to be in a safe location when you activate it. Carry the map around with you and check anytime you have a suspicion, Harry. I fear that is the only way to proceed from here."

"Yes, sir." Harry was disappointed at the lack of immediate action, but felt that the idea was a good one. Hadn't Ginny said just this morning that Harry was a good judge of people? Maybe he could tell, especially with Hermione's help, when someone wasn't acting right.

"I will speak with Professor Flitwick about engineering the same sort of map for use in my office." Dumbledore paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe consulting one of the original engineers would help. My, that would be a good excuse to fetch Remus here, wouldn't it?"

Harry nodded, his outlook brightening immediately. Remus would understand about Dobby's death, Harry was sure. He'd gotten to know the Marauder better during their last few weeks at the Burrow before returning. Most of it was spent in training – Procclumency, Occlumency, shields, spells and the like – but all through it, Harry had found Remus to have a keen knowledge of how Harry was feeling, as well as an understanding of how to treat the subject of Sirius. He had never pressed Harry to talk, just shared a few reminiscences of Marauder memories. They were invaluable to Harry, even if he couldn't bring himself to actually talk about Sirius.

They were all dismissed, then, but not until Dumbledore asked if Harry and Hermione would mind checking in on the House Elves. Everyone looked at Harry, who was disturbed at the thought of the whole group in despair over Dobby's death, as they surely must be, and perhaps even blaming him for it as they should be. But after Hermione said staunchly that she'd go alone, Charlie told Harry the elves wanted to see him. In the end, he nodded, knowing that he owed it to Dobby to go.

As they parted from Neville, he turned to Harry, looking hopeful. "Harry, I was just thinking. I'd hate to have to go through all of this again, you know, if someone else decided to pretend to be me again. D'you follow?" Harry nodded. "And you _know_ it's me right now, right?" Again, Harry nodded. "Well, what if you set a sort of password, or even better, a hand signal or something, that I would always give you to you when we first meet to prove _I_ am the real Neville. Then if it's not really me, you'll know not to take toast from the imposter, or anything else. Is that a good idea?"

Harry blinked. "Very good, Neville."

"Yes, I had been thinking of something along the same lines," Hermione chimed in. "It should be something small, that would go unnoticed by anyone that wasn't looking for it." She looked at Harry, and frowned. Suddenly she turned back to Neville. "How about tracing your forehead with the shape of Harry's scar?"

Neville's eyes lit up. "Oh, you're so clever, Hermione! No one will wonder why I'm scratching at my forehead, and if Harry's looking for it, he'll know that it's not a random itch I'm tending to. Is that all right, Harry?" Harry smiled at his enthusiasm and gave another nod. "Something like this, then?" With careful concentration, Neville reached up and used his index finger to run a vertical lightning bolt on the center of his forehead.

Hermione frowned. "No, no, that's far too obvious." Harry had to agree. "Use your middle finger, so that the index finger blocks it a bit, and just do it more like a scratch—once up, then down and then back up again. Yes, that's better."

Neville gave them one more grin, scratched at his forehead and said quickly, "I'm off to Care of Magical Creatures, then. Thanks again, Harry! I'll keep my eyes out for you!"

"Let's go then, you two," Charlie said easily, leading the way down the stairs. "I reckon I should have a sign as well, eh, Harry?" He gave them a lopsided grin. "How about this?" He looked around to make sure no one was looking, then reached up nonchalantly with his right hand, closing it he were grasping a Snitch. The whole motion was so quick and easily covered with a scratch at his left side that Harry was impressed.

"Yeah, that's good."

"Do I need one, Harry?" Hermione asked suddenly. Harry stopped on the stairs and looked at her, suddenly realizing how awful it would be if he couldn't trust her. She grew just as solemn as he nodded.

"Yeah. I think . . . Ron, too."

"Definitely. And Ginny. Um . . . let's see," she led the way back down the stairs and Harry contemplated the two signs he already had. He hoped all of his friends wouldn't need one. He could just imagine walking into a room and seeing twelve people start scratching, motioning and grabbing at the air as if possessed.

"Got it, Hermione," Charlie whispered from far in front. "Why don't you just dig for bogeys?"

Hermione made a face. "Oh, honestly!"

"Yeah, I guess that's no good, is it, because it has to be something you don't _normally_ do."

Harry snorted out a laugh, and Hermione fwapped him on the arm.

"_I_ didn't say it," he protested automatically.

"Ah—now _that_ should be your sign, Hermione—slapping," Charlie said in a low voice, grinning up at them.

Hermione huffed out a breath. "Weasley men. How _does_ your mother put up with the seven of you at the same time?"

"Ha! Well . . ." Charlie's smile disappeared. "She hasn't had to put up with all of us for a while. Not since Percy went barmy on us."

Hermione looked stricken. "Oh. I'm so sorry, Charlie—"

"'s all right," Charlie said, but he shook his head grimly. "He'll come back—either on his knees, or in a coffin. One way or the other."

Hermione exchanged glances with Harry, who was uncomfortable with Charlie's words. He still felt like he was at fault for at least part of Percy's falling out with his family—either part or all, he wasn't sure which.

After a decidedly uncomfortable silence, Charlie lightened up a bit and suggested that Hermione just tap her head twice to indicate that she was her own brilliant self. Hermione agreed quickly and quizzed Harry to make sure he remembered them all so far. He did: Neville was the lightning bolt scar, Charlie the snitch and Hermione tapping her head.

By this time, they were down near the Ravenclaw dormitories. Looking around carefully, Charlie stopped in front of the portrait of fruit and reached up to tickle the pear. It giggled, squirmed and then transformed to a bright green door handle. Charlie grasped it and swung the portrait open. "In you go," he said, gesturing for them to lead the way.

Harry did, reluctantly. He could already hear sniffling and sighing ahead in the kitchens. All of this was his fault. In his mind's eye, he saw Dobby there, with his green tennis ball eyes and pencil nose, smiling wide and running to throw his arms around Harry. Harry stopped. Hermione hesitated and then stepped in front of him. Over her shoulder, she whispered, "We have to do this, forDobby."

Harry gave a sigh that was almost a moan, and followed her. _Listen to Hermione. Listen to Hermione._

Once they rounded the corner, the enormous kitchens at Hogwarts came into view. The tables, replicas of the ones above were covered in half-eaten food and House Elves dressed in Hogwarts tea towels were picking through it, some eating a bit, some waving it magically away, but all looked tearful and weary. No one noticed their entrance at first. Then a tremulous voice came from behind them.

"Mister Harry Potter, is it, sir?" Harry turned around, only to see Dobby's friend, the squash-nosed House Elf, Winky. "Oh, I is sorry sir. I is just being Winky, sir. Poor, little Winky." Harry felt another pang of grief as he took in the elf's appearance. She was swaying on her feet, wearing the same blue skirt, matching shirt and hat as the last time he'd seen her, only now they were quite a bit cleaner. Behind her, there were two empty bottles of Butterbeer on the table. "I is alone, sir, now that Dobby is gone. And Winky is having clothes, sir. Winky is able to go wherever Winky wants, but Winky—Winky—" and here, she burst into tears— "Wi—Wi—Winky is only wanting to go where Dobby goes, sir."

Harry just managed to swallow past the lump in his throat. "I know, Winky. I'm sorry."

Hermione exchanged a piteous look with him, then turned back to the elf, who had leaned so far as to rest on sharp little elbow on a small corner table. "Winky, is there anything we can do to help? We're so sorry that Dobby was k—killed just . . . just doing his job. It was an atrocity that will be avenged, I promise you."

"N—n—no, Miss. N—no, not an a—a—not a trocity, at all. No, miss, Dobby was not 'just doing his job.' He is working for his master, for Mister Harry Potter! Dobby is being a good House Elf and Winky is wanting to be like Dobby now! They is all wanting to be like Dobby now!" She gestured beyond Harry.

Harry turned to see the other elves had stopped their work and were coming over to stand behind him, some wandering, some more purposeful. They looked up at Harry with huge, shining eyes, curtseying and bowing, a few pulling uneasily at their lumpy ears. "Oh, yes," said a taller House Elf near the front, "Oh, yes, Mister Harry Potter, sir. I is Duffy sir. Dobby is telling us of Mister Harry Potter's goodness and kindness and generosity and how Mister Harry Potter is giving Dobby clothes. We was thinking that Mister Harry Potter, sir, _cannot_ be good if he is giving Dobby clothes, but now—now we is understanding."

"How's that?" Harry asked, puzzled.

Another House Elf stepped forward. "We is thinking that clothes means that we is not serving a master no more. We was thinking that Dobby is being dangerous. But he was not. Though he was free to go, he was serving Mister Harry Potter good: he was not letting any other House Elf clean his room and he is dead now for being so good a House Elf. Mister Harry Potter's Dobby is being a good House Elf and a—hero."

A rumpled mutter ran through the Elves, which Harry only barely realized was meant to be a cheer of agreement. It sounded more like a wail. They were serious. Dobby's death had somehow convinced them that being free was just another way to serve their masters better. Harry shook his head and turned to Hermione, who was just taking her hand away from her mouth.

"No, no," she said in a horrified voice, "that's all wrong. I mean, yes, Dobby was a good House Elf, but because he was a visionary, an elf who saw beyond the confines of an outdated and practically masochistic system and dreamed of a better world. And he was brave enough to stand up for his rights when given the chance and brave enough to try to show others the way to that world! That's why he was a good elf, not because of—of anything else." Her eyes, at once tear-filled and fierce, looked over at Harry for back-up.

Harry shook his head. He could see where this argument was going, despite Hermione's consternation, but his insides were in a permanent twist from guilt. Dobby had refused to let anyone else clean his room; that's why he'd gotten the toast. House Elves were wired to take leftovers and food on the floor as theirs; sometimes that was all they got to eat. It wasn't like that at Hogwarts, but obviously Dobby had been hungry.

Harry looked out at the dark walls of the kitchens, gut clenched tight. He tried to listen to Duffy's words, but couldn't really concentrate. The gist seemed to be that Dobby was a martyr now, a martyr because though he was free, he had continued to serve his master even unto death. Hermione couldn't quite understand their logic.

"Well, I guess all that really matters is that you want to be free," she said finally. "Dobby started this movement, with help from Harry, and as you discover the benefits of freedom and fair wages—then you'll understand what S.P.E.W. stands for and we'll spread your message of hope throughout the world!" The elves exchanged nervous glances and backed away from her. Even Duffy looked too unnerved to speak. Hermione wilted. "What's the _matter?_ Don't you want all House Elves to be free?"

"Oh no, miss, and I is begging your pardon," said one timid elf from the rear of the crowd. The others parted so that the small elf could be seen. He was a thin, wrinkled elf with whiskers on each side of his face and Harry found himself wondering if elves shaved. "I is not wanting all House Elves to be free. I is just wanting to be like Dobby, miss."

"That's not good enough," she said through tight lips. "How can you let your brothers and sisters slave and toil away under unfair masters while you have it good at Hogwarts? Can't you remember what it was like before you came here? Winky!" Hermione whirled around and faced the despondent elf. "You know what it was like with Mr. Crouch. You know what it's like to serve a bad master—"

"Oh no," Winky wailed, throwing herself to her knees. "Oh no, Winky is not saying anything bad about her master. Oh no!"

"I didn't mean to—how can you—oh, honestly!" Hermione threw her hands up in frustration.

Harry hesitated, then stepped between the elves and Hermione. "Don't tell them _everything_—they're not ready for it. And don't push, because that will only make them feel like, you know, like you're not on their side. Offer to give clothes next week to everyone who wants it and then give them time. Maybe by the end of the year, it'll be something more like what you want." Hermione stared at him.

"I can't believe _you're_ telling me to keep things from them," she said pensively.

"Well, it's not really keeping things from them, it's just . . . not telling them the end from the beginning."

"You wouldn't have said that last year," she pointed out.

"Well, yeah," he said with a grimace. "I know."

Hermione looked past him at the elves. "Oh, all right. But they really seem to like you; you explain it to them!" she said in a huff. "I just seem to make things worse." When he hesitated, she grabbed him by the arms and turned him around. _"Talk."_

Harry stared at the upturned faces for a moment, and noticed a shift in their stances. Most turned toward him and took their hands away from their ears, hopeful trust written on their faces. It was a bit unnerving.

"If you really want to honor Dobby, then take clothes when they're offered. We'll give you a week to decide, then Hermione'll come back down and give them to as many as want to try it. Actually," he glanced over at her, "she'll be down here once a month to offer clothes and counsel anyone who needs help deciding what to do. I know she seems a bit . . . forward at times, but that's only because she cares as much or more about the way you have to live your lives than you do. But give her a chance; she knows what she's talking about. Thanks. And . . . I'm really sorry about what happened to Dobby." With that, he stepped back and watched the elves look amongst themselves apprehensively.

"Mister Harry Potter sir," asked Duffy.

"Yes?"

"We is wanting _you_ to come back down in a week, sir, if you is not too busy, sir," he said with a hopeful look in his round eyes. Harry couldn't say no and smiles were passed around the group now. They left, after Hermione said a few soft words to Winky, and Charlie grabbed a handful of biscuits.

"Well, they were just going to waste," he said as he chewed through the first. "Nice going there, Harry. I thought they might be about to toss Hermione down in the refuse bin."

Hermione harrumphed. "Some people just don't know what's good for them. But," she patted Harry on the arm, "thanks to Harry, there might be a future for S.P.E.W." As Hermione beamed at him, Harry just hoped she wouldn't want him to start wearing the stupid button again. But as they started back up the stairs, he felt the burden in his heart ease a little. It was a good thing that was happening. Maybe, just maybe, Dobby's death wasn't going to be a total waste. Maybe it would be the beginning of change for House Elves. And surely, that would please Dobby even more than the fact that he had died in Harry's service—that Harry knew for sure.

By the time they made it back to the Great Hall, there was only half an hour left in Care of Magical Creatures, so they headed that way in a hurry. Harry suddenly realized that he had left his bookbag in the Great Hall, and hoped that Ron had picked it up for him. Hermione scolded him for that, of course, and the normalness of it was comforting in a small way.

It was a gorgeous day. The sun had burned away all the early morning mist and the green of the hills was brilliant. Harry was struck once again by the fact that even after death, life goes on—however unkindly or calloused it might seem. The sun had not stopped shining, even though Dobby would never again see it in his lifetime. It was like that and always _would_ be like that, even when Harry himself died.

Things seemed to fade out around Harry as he tried for a long, horrible moment to imagine what Hogwarts would be like after he died—if he faced Tom down this year and failed, or succeeded, but died in the attempt. What would death be like? Was it really just the "next big adventure", as Dumbledore had said?

With a deep breath, Harry clenched his left fist and felt the comforting tug of the universal antidote band against his bicep. _No_. He didn't want to die. It had taken him all summer to make that decision, but he was sticking by it. It just wasn't time. He acknowledged Charlie's questioning look and tagged along after him and Hermione, reminding himself to stay alert. The field around them was wide open.

"Beaut of a day," Charlie said, looking up. "Makes me want to take a turn up in the air on that Firebolt of yours, Harry."

"Sure," Harry said, having no problem sharing after all the Weasley brothers had done for him this summer. He still couldn't believe they had faced down two hundred Dementors like that, all trying to protect him. "Any time," he added.

"Super," Charlie grinned. "Though today might not be the best day for it. Hard to believe, but I heard earlier one of the Divination classes predicted a storm later on."

Hermione sniffed. "I didn't think they taught weather forecasting in Divination class."

"Yeah, well, I heard Trelawney's gone all practical after last year's run-in with Umbridge," Charlie said with a grin. "Old bat can't compete with Firenze, I guess." Harry thought that sounded likely, and agreed that weather forecasting was probably as much as the batty Professor should be attempting. If she came out with another Prophecy anytime soon, he sincerely hoped he was no where _near_ her.

By the time they reached the class down at the entrance to Hagrid's hut, it was easy to see that this was to be the largest of Harry's N.E.W.T.-level classes so far. Sixth-year students from all four houses were in attendance, sprawled out on the grass, listening to what apparently had been a lengthy lecture from Hagrid and taking notes, or as in Millicent Bulstrode's case, ignoring Hagrid and ripping the heads off of dandelions. Charlie gestured that he would standing in the back, wand at the ready. Harry nodded him on, then turned to follow Hermione over to where Ron sat in the midst of the Gryffindors. Hagrid gave Harry a smile, but kept lecturing.

Trying to make himself as small a distraction as possible, Harry stepped where Hermione had stepped as she made her way between two clumps of students—the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws. Heads turned his way, and Harry acknowledged Padma Patil's smile with a nod but stopped short when he felt someone's hand grasp his pant leg. Looking behind, he was shocked to see that the hand belonged to Pansy Parkinson, and was even more shocked when her pug face twisted into a very slow, sly smile. Harry froze, but jerked away the instant her fingers slid beyond the fabric onto his skin. He nearly fell over Crabbe and Goyle, the big lifeless lumps in front of her.

"Hey!" one of them said and hands shoved Harry on his way.

"Sorry," he said breathlessly, dodging the Hufflepuffs and making his way to a gesturing Ron. Neville, beside Ron, was scratching at his forehead furiously until Harry caught his eyes and gave him a pointed nod. Neville relaxed.

Hermione, shaking her head, sat on Ron's other side and they whispered a few sentences back and forth before Ron leaned over her to speak to Harry. "You holding up all right, then?"

Harry nodded.

Ron looked relieved. "Good. I think Hagrid knows something about that Manticore, mate." Harry frowned at him and Ron gestured to Hagrid. "Just listen."

"Oh, aye, they be right big brutes, but that doesn't mean that understandin' 'ems impossible. Let's say you was born with a scorpion tail and all that extra gear…guess people might be a bi' afraid o' you, too." Harry was amazed that the students only looked half-awake. Manticores were pretty scary stuff.

"He's been going on like that for over an hour," Ron whispered. "Think he's been over to the Shrieking Shack or what?"

"Guess so." Hagrid had that glow on his face that he got when huge, impossibly dangerous animals were available for adoption. Harry shook his head, hoping that his big friend knew what he was doing. "Did you find out what he wanted?"

"Oh, yeah," Ron said with a serious look, "and it's bit of a favor all right."

"After class," Hermione hissed at him.

"All right, all right," Ron groused back quietly, "don't get your knickers in a twist."

Harry picked up his book bag from where it lay on the grass. "Thanks," he whispered to Ron and gestured at his bag.

"What?" Ron asked, puzzled. "Oh, yeah. Well, Ginny grabbed it and stuffed it in my hands or I'd have forgotten. Sorry," he shrugged.

Harry nodded, his thoughts automatically shifting to Ginny . . . and that little kiss she had given him earlier. Just one on the cheek, _yeah_, like that time Hermione did it, only . . . well, with that look in Ginny's eyes and what she had said . . . it had felt completely different. His whole body tingled just remembering. He wished she were here right now. What would she do when looked at her or—what if he got close to her and smiled? Would she blush and stammer like she used to?

He remembered the crush she'd had on him quite vividly. At the time, it hadn't made sense to him. He had just felt sorry for her because it made her so uncomfortable. But ever since Cho, well . . . Harry understood those feelings now, even if he didn't understand why Ginny would ever feel that way about _him_. And yet . . . she had, and now there were quite a few questions he'd like the answers to: like, had she really given up on him, and how interested in Dean was really she and what would she say if she knew that his to-do list now said "Kiss Ginny Weasley" instead of kiss just any old girl. What _would_ she do if he kissed her?

Harry ducked his head, feeling his cheeks start to go hot. He tried to get his mind back on the lecture. Hagrid was doing a surprisingly great job, throwing in so much information that it sounded as if he had been studying a good bit. Perhaps after that run-in with Umbridge, Hagrid felt he had something to prove. But still . . . Harry couldn't keep focused. Ginny had been in his dreams last night, standing so close to him that he'd felt a force like gravity kick in. He'd had to reach out to her, and had run his hand through her hair. It had felt intensely real and completely—

Harry shifted. He took a deep breath and looked around, noticing an owl flying by, the cluster of clouds in the East and the dirty roof of Hagrid's hut. Gentler thoughts of Ginny tickled at his mind again until he had to let them in: how her long hair whipped around when she played Quidditch, and how deep and dark her eyes were when she was looking at him, and then how her freckles weren't all over her face like Ron or the twins, but instead just sprinkled over her nose in this really cute way. And the thought brought a pang to his heart, an almost painful one.

It surprised him, and yet, somehow none of these were actually new thoughts, just . . . deeper thoughts, like Ginny was suddenly a N.E.W.T.-level class—a familiar subject with a whole lot more depth and complexity than before. Only, of course, she was something he _wanted_ to study.

Harry's cheeks had heated up again, and he felt like the whole class was staring at him, knowing what he was thinking about instead of the lesson. The paranoia had persisted through most of the time he was there. Glancing up in the direction of the Slytherins, he caught Pansy watching him, smiling that sly smile again. Holding his gaze now, she licked at her lips and . . . winked.

"She did _what?"_ Hermione gasped as they headed back up toward the castle later. She stopped so suddenly that Ron ran into her and started grousing at her. "Shush, Ron. Didn't you hear what Harry said?"

"Uh, yeah, Pansy was coming onto him, right?" Ron said, looking from Harry to Hermione, eyebrows raised.

Harry suppressed a shudder. "I just don't understand. Why on earth would she want to flirt with _me?"_

"Well, isn't it obvious, Harry?" Hermione said with a touch of superiority.

"Yeah," Ron agreed.

"She's trying to confuse you and distract you from your purpose."

"Ye—what?" Ron looked at Hermione as if she'd just sprouted a pair of horns, "That's not it. She just thinks he's . . . you know, cute."

Hermione scoffed. "A Slytherin…liking Harry?"

"Hey!" Ron protested loudly. "Harry's got very good-looking—I mean, well, that's what Mum and Ginny say, anyway," he said with a quick, embarrassed smile. "And he's not so squirty now, and he's dead famous. Why wouldn't girls want to snog him?" he finished with a loyal nod in Harry's direction.

Harry wanted to crawl under the grass. "It doesn't matter. We'll just keep an eye on her, too, right?"

"Of course," Hermione said promptly. "She might be up to something."

"Yeah, well, she can make eyes at him as much as she wants; she's not getting close enough to get her hands on him," Ron said stubbornly. "Not with me around."

Harry started walking back up the castle, tossing a question at Ron. "So, what did Hagrid want, anyway?"

"Oh, well, it's like this," Ron said as he fell into step beside Harry, "you know that the Death Eaters saw something large and hairy that shouldn't be here when they attacked you outside Hogwarts, right?" Harry nodded, remembering the surprise of seeing Grawp in plain sight. "Well, the only reason the Ministry hasn't been beating down the doors to find him is because the only people who saw him besides the staff were Death Eaters and it's not like they could go to the newspaper or anything because then they'd be confessing who they really were, you know?"

"Yeah—and," Harry prompted him.

"Well, right now there's an underground cave that Hagrid's hiding him in, just in case. It's like a pen where he kept Fluffy back in the day, you know? And he enlarged it when he thought he might keep Norbert. But Junior isn't too happy there, you know? He's got to have another place, a bigger, safer place and so Hagrid went to Dumbledore."

"And he suggested the Room of Requirement, right?" Harry supposed.

Ron stopped walking. "Right. How did you know that?"

Hermione smiled. "It's the only logical place, Ron."

"Oh, right." Ron looked at the two of them, colored slightly and started walking again. "So, there's a _bit_ of difficulty in getting him there."

"A bit?" Hermione echoed.

Harry stopped, the others pausing beside him. "So he wants _us_ to come up with a way?"

"Got it in one, mate."

Hermione went pale. "I don't . . . think I can . . ."

"Well, of course not," Ron said loudly, "I already told Hagrid that, what with how he kept grabbing at you and all—"

"Harry?"

Harry jerked around. Susan Bones was standing there, with Padma, both looking sober. Harry's face hardened and his wand jumped into his hand before he could stop it.

"We just wanted to say that we're sorry about Dobby. Parvati told us that some of you Gryffindors were friends with him."

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the gut. _Dobby_. For just a moment, he'd forgotten.

Ron pushed his way in-between Harry and Susan. "Yeah, well, Harry's not feeling very well. You understand?"

Susan backed up a step, looking confused. Padma frowned, watching Harry closely. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"He's fine," Hermione replied. "But Susan, is it all right if I talk with you a minute?" Harry closed his eyes, turned around and headed for the castle. He heard Susan say yes and then Ron was by his side again.

"I don't think Parvati's forgiven me for that Stinging Hex yet. You should have seen the glare Padma gave me. Thought it'd singe my eyebrows off! Hey, I'm half-starved. Want some chocolate frogs?"

They spent a good deal of time snacking and coming up with Ron's covert signal for Harry. There were plenty they didn't use: rubbing his stomach (too common), mimicking a save in Quidditch (too big), mimicking kicking the Prat's arse (too likely to make Harry laugh) and scratching his bum (again, too common). They finally went for scruffing up his hair, which he had stopped doing because Fred and George had teased him unmercifully about it.

That done, they grew quiet. Harry's thoughts were on Dobby and the imposter, which made him very poor company. Ron had cottoned on and just lay on his bed reading Quidditch magazines. By the time dinner rolled around, Harry was glad to go to the Great Hall, just to be up and doing something.

Once there, he wished he'd stayed in the dorm. Harry could hardly eat for all the students coming up and saying hello, offering condolences or, in some cases, reporting suspicious persons like Malfoy or Snape. Harry was beginning to wish he'd never made that stupid speech. He was in a foul mood from a really foul day, compounded by the report Hermione gave after talking to Susan, who not only claimed she hadn't talked to Harry alone after the Feast, but was vexed to tears by the accusation that she'd foisted herself upon him. With all of that on his mind, Harry didn't taste one bite of his food, nor did he manage to give Ginny a smile with even one-third of the dazzling brilliance he'd planned. It came out as a grimace when she asked how he was doing.

"Well, at least it wasn't Neville," she said with a relieved expression as she dug into her creamed potatoes. "I feel much better now."

Neville looked over at her, mild hurt showing on his face. "Did you really think it was me?" His gaze shot around to Harry and the others as well. Harry looked down at the table. He hadn't known what to think.

"I didn't want to, Neville," Ginny said softly, "but I know better than anybody how people can be made to do things they don't want to do." Harry remembered, with a little shock as always, that she'd been possessed by Tom's diary in her first year. Since they hadn't told many people about that, there were plenty of confused looks around the table until Ginny went on. "I knew you wouldn't _want_ to do it, if that helps."

Neville looked down, thinking it over. Then he nodded. "Yeah, it does."

"I never doubted you for a second, mate," Dean said with a sideways glance at Ginny. She glared back.

_Interesting, _Harry thought, with sudden uncharitable thoughts toward Dean. Just after that, Tobias Wafting came up to the table, the only first year to brave Harry's mood. Harry knew someone had appeared at his shoulder again when Ron looked up and his gaze narrowed.

"What you want," he half-growled, obviously picking up on Harry's vibes.

"Just to have a quick word with Harry, if that's all right," the high, reedy voice replied.

It sounded so much like Collin Creevy's voice back when he first came to Hogwarts that Harry had to turn around. The thin boy with messy blonde had his hands shoved in his pockets and swallowed nervously as Harry's eyes met his.

"Tobias, right?"

The boy's eyes widened and he gave a quick smile, "Yeah, yeah, that's me." He swallowed again. "I wanted to ask your advice, see?" He looked around at Harry's friends, who were staring at him. Quickly, he knelt and spoke up to Harry. "There's a Slytherin first year who came up to me after Potions class. I'm not sure if I can trust her. Some of the things she said sound . . . nutters." His eyes met Harry's and then slid away.

"Like what?"

"Well, like she says there's a whole lot of the older Slytherins who are planning to kill you, but I know that can't be true, right?" His voice broke on the last words and he cleared his throat.

Ron swore vehemently into his food.

"It might be," Harry finally said. "Can you tell me who the girl is?"

"Zimmy Twitchtie."

Harry saw Ginny stab a meat pie fiendishly before glaring over at the Slytherin table. Looking back at Tobias, Harry sighed. "Yeah, it might be true. What exactly did she say?"

"That Blaise Zabini's been in contact with Volde—Voldemort," he said looking around nervously as there was the inevitable flinching and wincing around the table. "Sorry. And there's some sort of bet going on, that's all I know."

"A bet about me being killed, you mean?"

Ginny threw down her fork. _"How _can_ you just sit there and talk about it?"_ she hissed across the table. _"Like it doesn't matter?"_

Harry stared at her, wondering how in the bloody _hell_ she thought he actually had a choice in the matter.

"Shut it, Ginny," Ron said under his breath.

Harry turned back to Tobias. "Thanks. It all helps. I don't know how trustworthy she is, so don't give her any information, but if she gives you names, let me know."

Tobias' eyes were wide and his jaw dropped slightly before he snapped it shut. "Right. I'll—I'll find out whatever I can. You were—you were completely serious, then, weren't you? In that speech?"

Harry nodded.

Ron leaned over. "This isn't a game, all righ'? If you're getting involved, they'll know. Watch your back, mate."

Tobias' eyes grew even wider. He turned to look at the Slytherin table, where several students were watching them. With a deep breath, he turned back and looked up at Harry again. "I'll do it. I'll let you know," he added with a nod.

"Thanks," Harry said with a slight smile.

"Good luck, mate," Ron nodded at him.

"Tobias, let me know if anyone bothers you," Hermione called in her Prefect voice as he stood. "I can help."

Tobias stared at her for a moment, then nodded tensely. "Bye," he half-waved and walked back down to his end of the table.

"We've got to _do_ something," Ginny said, eyeing everyone at the table. "Tell Dumbledore, tell someone."

"I'm fairly sure that Professor Dumbledore already knows," Hermione said quietly. "One of the Headmaster's portraits said something along those lines while we were in his office earlier. Remember, Harry? Professor Dumbledore didn't look surprised at all."

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm _not_ just going to sit around while everyone in Slytherin takes a shot at Harry," Ginny said, standing and slamming her hand down on the table. "I'm going to talk to Luna."

As she stormed off, Ron called out after her, "Yeah, you do that! I'm sure _that_ will help a whole lot!" He shook his head as he turned back to the table, grumbling, "Maybe she ought to go have a chat with Peeves as well."

Harry watched Ginny uncomfortably as she walked over to the Ravenclaw table. If she stayed in that frame of mind, she was very likely to be right in the thick of things if and when things did happen. _Not good._ He pushed the food on his plate around a minute, swirling his potatoes and gravy until they appeared to be a tiny volcano. He picked up a dollop of steak sauce and poured it in the middle until it burst out and dripped down like a lava flow.

"Coo'," Ron said with his mouth full of food. "Too ba' yo' don' 'ave itty people to pu' in it."

"Like ickle Slytherins," Seamus said with a snort.

As Hermione chided him for playing with his food, Harry's gaze was drawn back over to the Slytherin table, where Pansy was again watching him openly. She took a bite of food and drank from her goblet, her eyes never leaving Harry's. It was creepy. Beside her, Millicent Bulstrode and Blaise Zabini were talking quietly. Malfoy—the Prat—whatever—still hadn't shown up. Probably hiding under a rock.

At any rate, the Slytherins didn't scare Harry. They couldn't do any worse than Tom had done, and Harry had survived it all. And here, at Hogwarts, there were teachers, friends and allies who would be watching out for him. No, surely he was better off here than he had been this summer, at home and at the mercy of the Dursleys.

But then again, the Dursleys hadn't had instantly-fatal poison, Polyjuice Potion, and the Dark Lord on tap. If they had . . . well . . .

_Bloody hell._

Harry might not be afraid of the Slytherins, but right now, odds were certainly stacking up in their favor.

> > > > > > > > > > > > >

A/N: Have you figured out what's missing yet?

A shout out of thanks to Beta Musings and pre-Beta Melindaleo!

Maaaaaaan, do I love you guys!


	11. Things That Go Squeak and Scream in the ...

Chapter 11: Things That Go _Squeak_ and _Scream_ in the Night

_A/N: This one is for Charmina. Thanks for the encouragement._

There was a short meeting before bedtime, and all the Gryffindors were called into their common room. The mood was sober as Professor McGonagall went over the morning's events with those in her house. Harry peered through the crowd, wondering if any of them had actually tried to kill him. Face after face was familiar, sober and glancing at him with obvious worry. No one looked suspicious, and there wasn't any student Harry could truly believe would do him harm.

"Therefore," McGonagall summed up, "from now on, each student will come in the portrait hole one at a time, but the password will be whispered, not said out loud. A statue of Godric Gryffindor will be positioned outside the portrait and those awaiting entry must stand back behind the statue. Any crowding will result in some severe unpleasantness. I assure you that Godric Gryffindor was a famous swordsman as well as a wizard, and will let your imaginations conjure the rest. Now, are there any questions? Yes, Miss Weasley?"

"What if more poisoned food shows up here?"

"Professor Flitwick and myself will be adding and strengthening the wards around the dormitory and common rooms tonight, adding a Poison Alarm and a Skulking Monitor. Also, as an added precaution, no one will be allowed up in the Sixth Year boys dormitory except for the boys who sleep there now. If you press your way in, you will find yourself standing in Moaning Myrtle's toilet," she said with such a severe face that only a few students laughed. "Now if there are no more questions, I will ask you to go to your rooms early tonight, so that the warding can begin."

"Damn Slytherins," Dean muttered as they entered the dorm room minutes later. "I hate to think that one of them was creeping around our dorm looking like one of us and we didn't even know it."

Neville raised his eyebrows as he walked over to his bed and dumped his bookbag. "Do you really think the Slytherins could pull that off?" he asked doubtfully. Harry winced as he set his own book bag down and traded glances with Ron. The other boys were staring at Neville.

"What's that?" Seamus asked. "If it weren't the Slytherins, then who done it?"

"Death Eater," Neville answered in a slightly high-pitched voice as he sat cross-legged on his bed. "Gran warned me that they might try to get in to do mischief this year, and it looks like she was right as usual."

The boys all regarded each other for a long moment.

"Cor," Seamus finally breathed out. "If I told me mam tha', I'd be back home in a whiff."

"Might have been a Ravenclaw, you know," Ron suggested, but nobody answered. It didn't feel much better to think that someone in what appeared to be a friendly house would try to kill Harry, either.

"Sorry," Harry finally said quietly. There didn't seem anything else to say.

"Not your fault," Dean said with a forced smile.

"Of course it isn't," Ron said loudly. "We'll just have to keep a better eye on things, that's all."

"I know I will," Neville said as he started rummaging through the book bag at his feet and came up with a shiny Prefect badge. The boys erupted into chaotic congratulations and it was a minute before Neville could speak again.

Harry nodded. "Good on you, Neville," thinking not for the first time that something seemed different about Neville this year. He had grown taller over the summer and was no longer round-faced. He also had a new wand—dragon heart-string and holly, twelve inches. But obviously, for Neville to say something like what he had said in Dumbledore's office, Harry felt like the biggest change must have been on the inside, where no one could see it. Whatever it was, Harry couldn't be gladder, especially as his friend took charge of the covert signal idea.

"I was thinking about this, Harry," Neville said seriously. "I think they should only be used if the person is giving you critical information, handing you something, or asking you to come with them. The less we use them, the better. No point in you getting twelve signals every time you just walk in the room, right? That would jeopardize the whole system." Neville said seriously. "We'll have to use them sparingly out there. And once the ward and charms are up, we won't always have to do them in here, either."

Ron and Harry exchanged impressed glances, both implying, _Who__ knew?_

Neville gave Seamus the sign of blinking twice, and Dean the hand sign for the letter "d", which was a forefinger raised in the air and the thumb curving around to meet the other fingers. If he did it low, it looked completely natural.

After that, the boys got ready for bed, wondering back and forth about the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class on the morrow and whether or not Professor Haverlime would be good at her job. Harry couldn't imagine that there were many applicants for the position, as cursed as it had been, but hoped for the best. Professor Haverlime looked matronly, but so did Molly Weasley, but Harry knew his friend's mother to be a formidable witch of considerable talent that he wouldn't want to cross in a fight. Especially if one of her children were in danger.

After the other boys grew quiet, Harry lay looking at his curtains, suddenly remembering that Haverlime was going to teach Ginny Occlumency instead of Snape; she must be _some_ good. He set his glasses beside him on the ledge. He needed to ask Ginny about that next time he saw her. Turning over under the bedclothes, Harry let out a sigh and pulled up the gray screen in his mind, wanting no bad dreams or dark visions tonight.

He was sure he'd only been asleep for a few seconds when a sudden chill passed through him, startling him awake. He rolled over and gasped. In seconds he was up on his knees, wand trained on the gray, misty body floating over his bed, heart thundering in his chest. The gray thing squeaked and clapped its hands over its mouth. Harry gave a start and grabbed at his glasses with his free hand, trying to smother the hope fluttering up in his chest.

_"Dobby?"_

As soon as the glasses slid on his face, he saw the elf's huge tennis-ball eyes, gray now instead of green, wide with excitement as he nodded.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked in a scratchy voice. He felt as if all the horror and guilt of the day were caught in his aching throat.

Dobby let his arms fall by his sides and ducked his head. "Dobby is not meaning to startle you, Harry Potter, but Dobby—Dobby is back at Hogwarts," he said with a squeak of excitement on the last word.

"But, but you—you _are_ dead?" Tears sprang into Harry's eyes as the words left his mouth.

"Oh, yes, Harry Potter, Dobby was killed," the elf returned gravely. "Dobby could not help being dead and for that, Dobby is begging your pardon, sir."

"Dobby—no," Harry said in a pinched voice he barely recognized, "I'm the one who's sorry." Before he could stop himself, out tumbled the words he'd wanted to say to so many people before. "It's my fault you're dead. I'm so very sorry. Please forgive me," and with that, Harry's resolve crumbled. Tears, hot and wet sprang from his eyes and tracked down his cheeks, but he couldn't stop them. The pain was old and deep and carried him along helplessly. He fisted his hands into his eyes, a sob escaping him. "Please forgive me."

"Oh, oh—Harry Potter is crying for Dobby's death?" The elf's voice had gone so high as to be almost inaudible. "Oh no! Dobby was proud to serve Harry Potter and to die for him in such a way. Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends and Dobby wanted to do no less."

That didn't help, and a few sobs made their way out before Harry could quell them completely. But he couldn't really cry in front of someone else and his tears dried quickly. He wiped his face and looked up, his eyes feeling grainy and ill-used. "Dobby, I swear, I will find out who did this and I will avenge you, as I will Sirius and Cedric. And my parents."

"Oh yes, Harry Potter! And Dobby, Dobby is here to help Harry Potter!"

As the House Elf smiled widely, showing all of his ghostly-white teeth, understanding flashed into Harry's mind. "You mean . . . you came back here to help me?"

"Yes, Harry Potter! Dobby can no longer do elf magic, sadly enough, but he can watch and sneak and tell Harry Potter things. Dobby _knows_ Hogwarts," he said in a knowing, mischievous voice. "Dobby can find out secrets."

Harry almost smiled, but found he was too disturbed. "Thank you, Dobby. But, did you give up something to come here? I mean—"

"Oh, Dobby will not be here forever. Soon, he will be free, once Harry Potter is free."

"Free?" Harry's mind cast around for an answer. "You mean, you stay here until _I_ die?"

Dobby nodded with a shy grin. "Dobby's last thoughts were wishes to help Harry Potter, so he was able to stay. But not forever. Oh, not forever, like some unhappy Hogwarts ghost. No, Dobby will go _with_ Harry Potter, wherever Harry Potter goes." And his eyes were shining with that familiar, fanatical glow.

Finding no words appropriate, Harry only swallowed, nodded and moved to stow away his wand.

"Dobby is ready to go sneaking around the castle, Harry Potter. Where should Dobby go first?" The House Elf clapped his hands in childish delight.

Harry found he knew exactly where to send him. "Check up on Malfoy—I mean, Draco. The Prat's disappeared since lunch and I've been hearing bad things about the Slytherins. I want to know if he's in on it."

Dobby shook his head darkly. "Dobby heard about how the bad, evil Master treated his bad, evil son-no-longer. Only bad things and evil things will come from that house. Dobby knows. But Dobby will sneak and spy, oh yes!" He grinned again. "Dobby will find young past-master and come directly back!"

"Wait!" Harry called out louder than he'd intended as the ghost disappeared through his bed hangings. Harry stuck his head out just as Dobby flew back in, forcing them into the same space for a moment and causing Harry's whole body to go cold and clammy.

"Wha's tha', Harry?" Ron asked sleepily from behind his hangings.

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby said as he floated at the other end of the bed.

"Could you report back in the morning?" Harry whispered. "I need to sleep."

"Yes, sir," Dobby said with an energetic bow and then floated off through the curtains. Harry gave his head a shake and then peeked out to see if Ron had seen Dobby. Ron's curtains were still drawn and a light snore came from behind them.

Harry fell back into bed and was asleep before his mind had really sorted through all that Dobby had said.

At some point a dream caught him up and he found himself floating on a white cloud of nothingness, watching the land pass by beneath him. Hogwarts went by, followed by a sweep of heather and hills. Just as a beautiful, silvery lake came into view, a rain shower fell beneath him, drowning Harry's view in a gray storm. The thunder below him grew louder and louder until Harry clapped his hands to his ears, but it still sounded as if it had cracked right in his eardrums. A buzzing sound followed that Harry couldn't shake. It reminded him of the sound the fluorescent lights made in his old public school back in Surrey. He was thudding his palm against his head, struggling to hear anything but buzzing when—

"Harry Potter, sir!"

Harry jerked upright, realizing two things instantly: that the loud peal of thunder from his dream had been real—had in fact just rolled by right outside the window—and that Dobby was back inside his bedhangings, his pale, ghostly body quivering with energy.

"Dobby found him—the young past-master—out in the hallway, under attack! Harry Potter must come and help!"

Harry grabbed his glasses, flicked his wand into his hand and jumped through the curtains, his mind fumbling for sense in what Dobby had said. Could it be a trap? No, Dobby would have seen that. Did the Prat actually deserve rescue? Harry entertained the notion of _not_ going, but . . . he couldn't. It just wasn't right. He couldn't leave someone helpless. "Where? Which hallway?"

"Outside the Gryffindor Tower entrance, left, heading down toward the dungeons," Dobby squeaked.

"What time is it?" said Neville in a muffled voice.

"Harry, 'zat you?" Ron slurred out.

Realizing in an instant how stupid he'd almost been for going off alone, Harry threw himself at Ron's curtains and snatched them open. "Wake up, Ron! Someone's attacking Malfoy—er, Draco!"

"Wha'? Wha's that?" Ron sat up and blinked.

Harry shook his head. "Get _up!"_

"Did you just say that—that—" he yawned widely, "someone's attacking the Prat-Who-Cannot-Be-Named?"

"Yes!"

"Good! About time," he added as he lay back down and turned over.

Harry huffed out an irritated breath. "Dobby, get him up and _explain_! I have to go!" His heart pounding, Harry raced down the stairs, ignoring Neville's call after him. Why would Mal—Draco be over here near Gryffindor Tower unless he was trying to come for help? _Or trying to make an attempt on my life,_ the darker side of Harry's mind reasoned with equal force.

Harry ignored both voices and vaulted through the Portrait Hole, promising himself to take it slow and assess the situation before jumping in. Why did Ron _always_ take so deucedly long to wake up?

"Dearie, oh my—where are you running off to? And where's your FRIEND?" The Fat Lady sounded very upset. "Oh my! I'll have to let the Headmaster know!"

Harry ran bent over, his feet padding almost silently on the cold stone, his wand out, his gaze never resting on one thing too long. He didn't know how far down the hallway Draco would be, and every sense was strained to the limit as he tried to avoid any possible dangers. So far, all was quiet. Where was the Prat? Dobby had said he was—

Harry froze with his back to the wall. From somewhere around the corner came choked, desperate noises of someone in pain—someone unable to breathe, unable to scream. Harry tipped his head around the corner, then pulled back. No one attacked, and there was no sign of any attackers, but the sight of Draco, alone, jerking on the floor was seared into Harry's mind. Harry set his mouth grimly and tapped his wand on his head, silently thanking Lupin for the forced practice as the familiar, drippy feelings of an expert Disillusionment Charm worked their way over him. No yellow glow this time. As soon as it was done, he stepped around the corner and pointed his wand at the boy.

_"Finite Incantatum!"_

Immediately, a scream ripped from Draco's throat, making Harry jump. He realized with sudden horror that the boy had been Silenced as well as put under the Cruciatus. Draco was bloody from a wound to his head and trembling all over. There was a flash of red light from the corner of Harry's eyes—from empty space—and he jerked around sideways, only to have a soft wetness splash over him. His Disillusioned body now had a large splash of purple paint over one side of him.

_"Stupefy!"_ Harry sent a spell spinning toward the space where the paint had come from.

It must have missed; there was no movement. Harry threw a Body-Binding Spell slightly to the right of the spot. Nothing. Another to the left. Somewhere distant, thunder rumbled. Draco moaned.

Harry didn't know what to do. If his opponent was still there, maybe Disillusioned, too, why weren't they attacking? Had he scared them off? If the attacker had been a student, it was possible. Up on the roof somewhere far away, rain was striking hard enough to be heard. A torchlight sputtered nearby. Harry bounced on the balls of his feet, not yet convinced this was over. But as carefully as he scanned the hallway, he could see nothing.

Finally, Harry aimed a Scourgify spell at himself and washed away the paint, half-expecting a curse to be thrown at him before he was through. Nothing came. Now Draco's teeth were chattering as he lay on the stone like a dead man, an occasional tremor making its way over him.

"Hey, Mal—Draco?" Harry whispered, stepping back to speak to him. "Who attacked you?"

The boy's surprised gaze flickered in Harry's general direction, but then he shut his eyes, shuddering. Harry had forgotten for a moment that he was Disillusioned. He turned back to the hallway, half of a mind to try Sensing, which he had used with marginal success during those few weeks of training he'd had this summer. Then he would be able to locate anything with potential magic. But, of course, to really concentrate, he would have to close his eyes . . .

From somewhere around the corner came the distant whisper of voices—Ron's and Neville's, Harry thought. Relieved, he took a few steps back and glanced back in their direction. Of course, they wouldn't be able to see him. Before they came into view, a half-grunt from Draco pulled Harry's attention back. He walked back over to the boy.

"Yeah?"

"Potter," Draco said weakly as he sat up, "don't be an _idiot_ She's an Animagus."

"What?"

"She could be any—" Draco's eyes went wide.

Instantly, Harry knew the spell was coming; he could Sense it speeding toward him from a different direction this time and knew that it was too late. He twisted and jerked back, almost far enough, but not quite and the red light caught him at his left elbow with a sickening crack, lifting and spinning him round in the air with dizzying force. There was a distant cry from someone, an echo of his agony, even before his back connected with the floor. Then his head hit stone and everything faded into a white, cottony wilderness.

He was somewhere else. It was a peculiar place, one empty of stress or pain, where peace reigned supreme. Wall-to-wall white, or rather, horizon-to-horizon white. If only it had some kind of boundaries . . . or other people in it, it might not be so bad. Harry wandered about in it, kicking up clouds of puffy, white mist until something tickled at his mind, a vague feeling that he needed to be somewhere else, doing something else right now. That didn't make sense to him, but then a roaring like the ocean had started in his ears and with it came groaning and screaming. It grew louder and louder until, with a rush, darkness overcame the light and he knew that _he_ was the one groaning. Draco was the one screaming.

Harry opened his eyes to see red light hit to the right of him, knocking up a spurt of dusted rock from the stone floor. He couldn't move—the pain from his arm was deep and nauseating, not to mention the reactivated bruising from the Portkey incident—but he lifted his wand in the other hand and readied himself, thankful that his Disillusionment charm was providing him cover for a few more seconds. There was a whispered curse and another jet of red light headed his way from seemingly empty space.

_"Protego!"_ he whispered, his wand shaking.

The spell splattered purple paint over his shield, the overflow landing on Harry and the floor around him.

"Yesssss," a voice hissed from across the hallway. Harry hurled a Body Binding Curse toward it, grunting at the pain it caused him.

Another bludgeoning curse was the response, and his quick shield kept only the worst of it off. With a sickening thud, the spell drove against his injured arm and left him reeling in a hellish, white dream . . .

_"Stupeffffffffyyyyyyyyyy!"_

"Harrrrrrry! Are you allllll rightttttt?"

Someone—Neville?—was whispering.

Harry groaned.

"Hang on, Harry!"

A sizzling spell cut the next silence and Draco cried out.

"Right there, see it?" _Neville?_

Slowly, the white mist faded around Harry and he opened his eyes just in time to see a red spell go jetting toward his friends.

_"Protego!" _they both yelled.

"I got him! Wait—"

Red light went spinning in the other direction and there was a high-pitched scream from the invisible assailant. Harry fought past the dizziness and nausea and forced himself to sit up.

"Uh-oh," said Neville.

"You just hit a _girl,"_ Ron said in amazement. "Bloody hell."

"Hit her _again,_ you _idiots!"_ Draco screeched. "She's going to _kill_ me!"

_"Reducto!" _screamed the invisible girl.

_"Protego!"_ Neville and Ron shouted again in unison, shields in front of them, but the spell wasn't aimed for them. The red jet went upwards and collided with the ceiling above. Rock exploded down. Ron fell with a cry while Neville dove backwards to get out of the way. Harry tried to stand, but fell back on his haunches when white patches threatened his vision again. He leaned forward on his good arm, wand to the floor, useless.

_"Reducto!"_ Draco returned fire desperately, but his red light hit the wall without interference.

_"Concidus!"_ the girl said triumphantly and Draco cried out again as he was flung hard at the wall. He went limp, blood quickly welling up underneath the jagged cut on his shirt.

Harry sat back, forcing himself to lift his wand while his left arm stayed limp in his lap. There were quiet, fast footsteps and Harry tried to follow their progress. He wished he knew the stupid incantation for . . .

In desperation, he called out, "Paint!" and pointed his wand. A jet of neon-orange colored paint flew across the hall and caught the edge of a moving figure in a cloak, swirling around as the girl stopped and crouched. A curse spun from her just as Harry worked out that she was wearing an Invisibility Cloak. His movements were sluggish from pain as he started the shield spell—

_"Proteg—"_

The fiendish blow to his ribs cut off his breath and colors spun before his eyes as he fell back, head hitting the stone again, hard. He could do nothing but wait for air, wait for the pain to subside and the world to stop spinning. Then—

_"Crucio."_

Harry got in a breath only to let it out in a scream. Fiery, consuming agony ran up and down his limbs, in and out of his mind, agony upon agony. He felt himself fading, and then it suddenly stopped. Tremors ruled his body and his sight was dark, but he could still hear. At first, it was just cursing and incensed words from Draco, something about someone getting away.

Then Dobby appeared in Harry's vision, as cloudy and gray as everything else in Harry's blurred vision. He looked nervous and his words cut in and out, saying something about Madame Pomfrey and was it . . . Hermione?

The last thing that penetrated the fog in Harry's mind was the moaning, ragged voice of Draco calling for his Mum.

Or actually, Harry realized foggily, he wasn't calling _for_ her at all . . .

"Oh Mum . . . Mum," Draco groaned out in-between pained breaths. "You'll pay for this . . . I swear! . . . I'll see you rot in _hell!_"

Then darkness eclipsed the gray and Harry fell deeply into it.

* * *


	12. A Bad Case of the Pansys

A/N: Please, please, please, please PLEASE don't kill me!

Beta Note: And don't kill me either.

Chapter Twelve: A Bad Case of the Pansys

The first thing Harry heard was Snape's voice hissing, _"Wake up, boy!"_

The first thing Harry felt was pain, so bad that he couldn't take another breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on Snape's voice, which sounded so far away. "You must say the words to heal yourself. '_Salvos Ruttum; Resarcio Concidus!' _Say it!" Someone moaned, someone over where Professor Snape was speaking. Harry couldn't decide why this all sounded so familiar.

"He's not responding," Madame Pomfrey said briskly. "Are you sure there's no other way?"

"Of course not," Snape snapped back, "we've been through this with Potter! Draco must say the words or he will die. Keep out of the way!"

"Now Severus," Dumbledore's voice came floating over to Harry, but he found himself unable to concentrate on the voice any longer. His arm was throbbing in time to his heart beat, each pulse sending a nauseating pain through his whole body. To keep from losing consciousness again, he focused on his raging thirst. _Water . . . ._

"Ginny?" Hermione was somewhere beside him on his left. Harry jerked a little, and the pain was like a wild beast clawing into his body. His breath went. "What are you doing?"

"I'm—I thought I saw Harry move," she said, close on his right side.

"Why is your wand out?" Hermione said in a weary tone. "Charlie is standing guard outside the door."

"I know that," Ginny said tightly, "but—but they were attacked by an _invisible_ Death Eater."

"We don't know she's a Death Eater," Hermione corrected her.

From across the room came a flurry of excited voices, but Harry couldn't make them out.

"As good as!" There was a flumping sound, like Ginny had just cast herself down in a leather chair. "And she might still be around here somewhere."

"_Resarcio Concidus,_ Draco," Dumbledore was saying . . . .

"Oh, this is horrible!" Hermione sounded truly distraught and Harry wanted to speak. His mouth was so dry and he tried to swallow. "Ron and Harry, both just laying there!"

"And Neville," Ginny said in a tight voice. "She got him, too."

Harry screwed up his face as memory suddenly flooded back. They'd been coming to his rescue. How bad had Ron and Neville been injured?

A low moan was the only sound Harry could make.

"_Harry!"_ Ginny and Hermione were both by his side in an instant. "Are you all right?"

"_Professor Dumbledore, he's awake!"_

Harry opened his eyes and saw only white with a blob of brown and a blob of red bending over him. He closed his eyes, "Water."

A glass of water with a straw appeared in front of him and he raised his head forward to drink—big mistake. Agony snatched him back into the misty whiteness and it felt like two forevers before he could hear the girls' voices again. They came to him over a vast landscape of thirst as he was heated by the blazing sun of pain. He tried to pull his mind together again. Apparently, the pain in his arm was linked to every muscle in his body and he shouldn't move at all. _Fine_.

"Madame Pomfrey is coming, Harry," Hermione was saying in a soothing tone, "She'll fix your arm in a jiff, okay? Just hang in there."

"Why is she wasting her time on that . . . that prat!" Ginny ground out. Harry could feel her cold little hand on his forehead, cold like that time in the Chamber of Secrets. He felt guilty for upsetting her; she was usually warm and bright. Just thinking of her smile made him float along peacefully until Madame Pomfrey's strident voice broke through the reverie.

"Well, we have one patient through the woods now, though I must say, Mr. Potter, that Mr. Draco certainly doesn't have your constitution. Not at all! If he had this bad a break, he'd be screaming his—"

"The _potion_, Madame Pomfrey," Ginny cut her off with a terse voice.

"Right here, dear, just relax. Now, Mr. Potter, we'll have to get you sitting up a bit," she said briskly. A whispered spell took form under his back and he found himself slowly, imperceptibly shifting forward. The pain stayed steady and bearable, though he kept his eyes shut rather than risk losing control. "Very well done! Now, drink this draught. It'll do away with the pain first."

Harry obediently opened his mouth, feeling even that small action reverberate horribly in the loose bones of his arm. A chalky-peppermint taste sludged its way over his tongue and down, the first swallow jarring him somewhat. But almost immediately, the pain lessened and he took in the rest more eagerly.

After the draught was gone, he finally managed to open his eyes and found that someone had already placed his glasses on his nose. Ginny, still on his right, was looking daggers at Madame Pomfrey, her arms crossed impatiently. Hermione stood behind Pomfrey on his left, smiling hopefully at him.

"Is that better, Harry?"

He nodded and was relieved to feel no more than a corresponding twinge in his arm. "How's Ron?"

Her face fell, and she turned to look over at the bed on his left. "He hasn't woken up yet. Madame Pomfrey thinks he's got a—a—"

"Two broken ribs, a concussion and a shattered tibia," she said briskly, holding a vial before Harry's eyes. "But he'll be fine once we get in another draught of Bone-Healing Potion. We had to drip the first one in. Now—drink." Harry swallowed the foul-tasting potion and felt an immediate tingling in his arm. Madame Pomfrey whispered a spell and his arm slowly bent to a ninety-degree angle. The feel of his bones shifting was unpleasant, but not painful as it should have been.

"Good boy," the old nurse said appreciatively. "Should only take a few minutes and you'll be right as rain. Get some fluids in him, please, young ladies. That will be your task." She gave each of his friends a stern look and bustled off to tend to Neville.

Ginny looked at Harry mischievously. "I know just what to get him. I'll be right back!"

Hermione pulled a chair forward to sit beside him, her eyes liquid with tears, her lower lip trembling. As well as he knew her, he was still a bit surprised when she said nothing, but leaned over to rest her arms and face on the mattress beside him. She looked up at him, trying to smile, but started to cry and buried her face in her arms. Awkwardly, Harry used his good hand to pat her hair. A few smothered sobs came from her beneath her shaking shoulders. Harry felt terrible.

"_Why_ did you have to go out there, Harry?" she finally gasped_. "Why?"_ Harry's hand froze on her head and he pulled it away.

From where they were sitting, Draco's mumbled voice could barely be heard. Harry shook his head. "Dunno. I guess because he was in trouble. Serious trouble."

Snape's hissing voice suddenly caught Harry's ear. "Be thankful for what you have left, Draco. And in the name of all that is good in this world, _stop feeling sorry for yourself!"_ The rhythmic cadence of his footfalls came near and then Harry saw the dark man go striding by, angry creases marring his face. He didn't even seem to notice the Gryffindors.

Ron groaned beside them and Hermione jerked away, rushing to his side. Harry looked over and grimaced at the sight of his friend so pale. Every freckle stood out on his face and there was blood and dirt ground into his clothing in so many places. Harry felt a flash of anger that Madame Pomfrey hadn't had a chance to help him more because of Draco. And then another flash of anger came when he realized that _none_ of them would be here if it hadn't been for the Prat.

"Ron," Hermione said in a horribly shaky voice, "can you hear me? Oh _please_, say something." Harry had never heard her sound so unsure of herself before. Ron moaned in response and tossed his head on the pillow. "He's in pain," Hermione said in a quivering voice.

"_Madame Pomfrey!"_ Harry called out, _"Ron's waking up!"_

Instantly there was a glad response and footsteps hurrying their way. "Oh, those Weasleys _are_ a hardy lot!" She was smiling as she came around the curtain that separated Harry and Ron from the rest of the ward. "Mr. Weasley, I hope you're ready to take potions, because you'll need five different ones to mend you up!"

Hermione paled considerably. "Five? That's a good bit."

"Oh, stuff and nonsense," Madame Pomfrey said cheerfully as she bustled about. "You took more than that last year to recover from your cursing, and Harry had plenty more this past summer, now didn't you, Mister Potter? Nothing to worry about, dear," she reassured her as she waved her wand and lined up the vials in front of Ron, who was just now opening his eyes.

"Harry," Ron croaked out, jerking a hand out to Hermione.

"He's fine," Hermione said with a shaky smile. Harry wanted to reassure him, but suddenly found that he had to swallow very hard.

Madame Pomfrey waved her wand and Ron tilted forward in his bed very slowly, grimacing and gritting his teeth all the way. "You've got two doses of Bone-Healing Potion, one of Blood Replenishing, one of Blood-Cleaning and one of Brain-Building, just in case."

"Where is he?" Ron asked quietly in-between pained grunts, his head locked into a slightly downward position.

"Right here, of course," Harry called across to him. "Now take your medicine, you stubborn git."

Ron broke a smile but kept his head down. Madame Pomfrey had to ease his head back for him and have the Potions tip into his mouth one at a time. When they were halfway done, footsteps came nearer and Ginny appeared at the divider, a furtive smile on her face. She glanced over at Madame Pomfrey and crossed to Harry's other side so that her back would be to the witch. Harry watched her curiously, a half-smile on her his face. Ginny was obviously hiding something. She caught Harry's eyes and grinned, pulling a bottle of Butterbeer out of its hiding place in her robes.

"The twins sent me back to school with a surprise—an Evercold Icebox with a Neverending Supply of Butterbeer! And I've decided _you'll_ be the first recipient." She handed him the bottle after tapping it with her wand to pop off the top. "Wait!" She pulled a straw out of another pocket. "I've got one for Ron and Neville, too," her robes clanking as she moved to stick the straw in the Butterbeer.

"Thanks, Ginny," Harry said gratefully, feeling as if he'd never been more thirsty in his life than he was right now. He took a long draw of the sublime drink, feeling it cool him all the way to his toes.

"You're welcome," she hissed and motioned to him to hide the bottle on the side away from Madame Pomfrey. He positioned one knee up and hid the bottle behind the covers the hump it made on his bed. "Good! I have to go hide these! If Ron asks, tell him I'll be right back."

Harry vaguely wished her well, but was totally involved in hiding and drinking the delicious Butterbeer throughout the entire time Pomfrey was working on Ron. After the drink was gone, Harry stole his wand off the table and managed to make the bottle disappear on the first try, his summer training again coming in handy. Remus would be so proud. Harry laid back and listened to Ron complain about the potions. _Speaking of potions, _Harry thought drowsily, _one of mine must have been laced with something, because I can't keep my eyes open._ He drifted off again to the soothing voices of Ron and Hermione, low now that Pomfrey had moved away. Ron was telling Hermione what had happened.

"_You_ try hitting an invisible target! Lot harder than it seems, I'll tell you that!"

When he next woke up, Harry thought he was dreaming. It had something to do with the fact that he heard someone whisper _"Wake"_ in this really creepy voice before he was entirely aware of his surroundings, and also something to do with the fact that the first person he saw after he put his glasses on was Pansy Parkinson.

The thing was, he felt very awake, which was confusing, because he wasn't reacting to Pansy as he _should_ have. He didn't roll out of bed and grab his wand. Nope. He just sat there, every sense trained on her, studying the silky, black dressing gown she was wearing, then moving upwards, noticing the glow of her blonde hair and thinking he'd never really noticed her eyes were such a lovely shape_. I suppose I've never gotten beyond that horrid pug nose of hers._ But he looked at her nose and it didn't look horrid now. It was just kind of short. And cute.

It was that thought that jerked him into a sitting position and he backed up against the headboard. A cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. He thought Pansy Parkinson was _cute_. What was wrong with him? He looked around, hoping to find help. Hermione was gone. Ginny was gone. Ron was snoring slightly.

He was about to call out to his friend when a hand touched his leg, freezing him instantly. But the shudder that went through him was only half-dread. He looked over to see that Pansy had taken off her dressing gown and was standing beside the bed, one finger lightly brushing at his leg under the covers. "Hello, Harry."

He shuddered again, her voice sending a shiver down his spine. But to his gaining horror, he found that he couldn't make himself move farther away, nor could he force himself to really want to.

"Hi, Pansy," he said in a thin, breathless voice.

Her eyelids drooped in a mesmerizing way and her smile made his entire body tingle. His mouth went completely dry. She had come to his bed in the middle of the night; she obviously wanted to get closer to him and he really wanted her to . . . .

There was something he knew he was supposed to be thinking—something that would change everything, but then—then _oh_—

She was walking toward him, lazily dragging that one finger up to his knee, then onto his thigh, drawing the shape of his muscle there and leaving a trail of fire behind. And she didn't stop. Harry's breath hitched and he shifted as the one finger drifted up over his hipbone and on to his stomach. . He was breathing so heavily that he was embarrassed. Then she was right in front of him and he had to look up at her face, sure she was about to say something. She looked breath-taking in the glow of the moon, her eyes violet in the shadows. Harry wanted to stand and put his arms around her—

But before he could, she bent and slanted her lips against his, her nose brushing his lightly. The kiss was hard and demanding, filling Harry's belly with heat and his mind with sheer, numbing bliss. _Pansy! Pansy!_ He found himself crying out silently, not even knowing why. She was beautiful and captivating in that silky nightdress and she wanted _him_. Scorching heat licked through him at the thought and then, without warning—nausea kicked in. He fought it, but it forced him to pull his lips away from hers.

Gasping for air that he suddenly needed, he shook his head to clear it. Pansy tried to tip his head back again, but he jerked away from her touch. His stomach was clenched tight now and the euphoria had faded.

She sighed. "I know. I know all about it," she said in a long-suffering voice that sounded sweet to him. "I might have an idea how to beat it. But sleep now." Harry looked up to see her smiling down at him, violet eyes narrowed. And as he watched, darkness crept in the edges of his vision until he could no longer see her shining hair. "Next time, Scarhead. Now—_Sleep."_

Pansy's small hands helped him settle back down into bed, and the last thing he remembered was the feel of her sharp nails gently biting into the skin of his bare chest.

Harry woke with a start, sitting up so suddenly that the world tilted around him crazily. Daylight flooded the room around him. He made a grab for his glasses, put them on and then looked down. His pajama shirt was buttoned. Pulling it out from his chest, he gasped at the small red marks on his chest. It hadn't been a dream? Or maybe he had scratched himself? He unbuttoned his shirt and studied the long scratch marks. His fingernails hadn't done that. It looked like someone had been trying to draw blood.

Harry muttered a curse.

"Mr. Potter, are you awake?" Madame Pomfrey's voice sent him scurrying to button up his shirt and get under the covers, doing a quick check to make sure that his pajama pants seemed unmolested. He lay back with relief flooding him, followed by another bout of nausea. How could he—did he really—_Pansy Parkinson?_

He rolled over with a groan and pulled his knees up into his chest.

"Mr. Potter?" Madame Pomfrey appeared around the curtain, dismay stretching the features on her plump face. "Whatever is wrong? Is your arm still bothering you?"

"No," Harry forced himself to answer, "just a—nightmare. That's all."

"Poor dear. I shall have to send you away with some Dreamless Sleep Potion tonight, so you can have some good rest. Is anything hurting? Are you uncomfortable?"

"Er—" Harry said as she waved her wand over him, "No. I mean, well, I just have to go to the, er . . ."

"Oh, yes, well certainly, young man. You should be able to get there on your own just fine." She smiled before walking away, and then called back over her shoulder. "Call if you need any help with your pants."

Harry pulled the covers up over his head and groaned again.

"What? It's good advice, mate," Ron called out from his bed, awake and yawning apparently just in time to catch the embarrassing conversation. "Just call me instead of her, right?" Harry rolled over and glared at him. "Like I haven't seen it before," Ron grinned, yawning widely at the same time.

"Shut it, Ron!"

"Yes, please, before I throw back up all the lovely potions I've been forced to drink," Draco drawled from somewhere beyond curtain.

Ron gave Harry an apologetic look and Harry growled. He thought he couldn't feel any more embarrassed until Ginny popped her head around the curtain.

"Oh, don't mind Draco, he's just jealous because he knows he won't get invited along." She stayed just long enough to see Harry's jaw drop before bursting into giggles. "Glad to see you're finally awake."

Draco obligingly cursed at her but stopped when she whipped around, hand on her hips. "Three words, Draco. Bag-Bogey Hex." Harry couldn't see Draco's response, but from Ginny's smile, it must have been satisfactory.

"Ginny, what are you doing here?" Ron demanded. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Classes are canceled until further notice," she admitted, walking over to Harry's bed and straightening his blanket. She dropped her voice. "Everyone's stuck in their Common Rooms while they do a sweep of the castle, looking for Narcissa. Hermione's there, too, doing her bit as Prefect."

Ron snorted. "They're not likely to find much, since Lucius' lovely wife is an Animagus. She could have slithered her way out anywhere." He shook his head. "A snake Animagus—she makes a bloody perfect Slytherin, eh?"

Harry couldn't help but agree. "I guess they've thought to get out the Marauder's Map?"

Ginny nodded and whispered, "Yeah. They got Seamus to take it out earlier, but I don't think it showed up anything. At least, they haven't stopped looking yet, so . . . ."

She shrugged.

Harry suddenly sat up straighter. "How's Neville?"

"He hasn't woken up yet, has he Gin?" Ron asked. She shook her head. "I was up a few times during the night and he was still out."

"He must have gotten a heavier concussion," Ginny added.

"Yeah," Ron said morosely, "I thought he jumped out of the way of the rock pile when it came down. Poor Bugger. Apparently, he jumped out of the rock pile and into the wall."

Ginny and Harry exchanged pained looks. "Poor Neville," Ginny said with a sigh, sitting on Harry's bed. The jostling reminded Harry's bladder that it was being ignored. So he excused himself, with only marginally pink cheeks.

After he returned, there was a nice, restful hour where they went over the events of the morning carefully, answering all of Ginny's questions. She was particularly interested in Dobby's return, as was Ron, but Harry kept to himself what the elf had said about only being free after Harry's death. Something in the way Dobby had said it made Harry uneasy. It too closely resembled a Prophecy. Maybe he was paranoid.

Ginny wistfully asked to be included next time something like that happened, which sent Ron over the top. Harry was none too pleased, either and that really set Ginny off.

She jumped to her feet. "You actually think I can't take care of myself, don't you? Just because I got a stupid broken ankle at the Department of Mysteries!" Her brown eyes narrowed as she looked in between them. "Just you wait until the D.A. starts up again! They'll be mopping both of you off the floor after I'm done." She stalked off before either of them could find the right thing to say and they groaned simultaneously.

"Perfect!" Ron groused. "There's Death Eaters roaming the castle and she's decided that she needs to prove herself. I'd better call Mum."

"I think _that_ would just make things worse, besides giving your mum more to worry about."

"Where's Hermione when we need her? She could have prevented that," Ron went on morosely. "Fred and George are going to kill me and feed me to Buckbeak."

Harry looked off in the direction Ginny left, hoping she'd just gone to see Charlie and wondering if girls were always going to be a mystery to him. That put Pansy back in his mind suddenly, and he grew quiet. He felt he really should tell someone, but just couldn't stand all the embarrassing questions Ron and Hermione would be sure to ask. Just the fact that he had thought Pansy was _cute_ was hard enough to stomach, much less the way she had made him _feel_. He'd die if he had to explain that. And what if it _had_ been a dream? After all, Harry didn't have a pristine record in that department. And right now, he felt normal—ambivalent toward Pansy for the most part. So, he could probably safely wait until the next time he saw the Slytherin girl, and then take action, or tell someone—_if_ necessary. The whole thing was completely humiliating, even if it was a dream.

Neville woke just after Harry decided this, to great celebration. Both Harry and Ron gathered around his bed to shake his hand and thank him for his help last night. Neville smiled a lopsided and unfocused smile, wincing because of a murderous headache, which Madame Pomfrey soon fixed. They had a light lunch and all laid back down to nap, their healing bodies needing to rest. By the time Hermione came in late afternoon to report that Narcissa had escaped, all the Gryffindors were up and feeling ready for company. Hermione, of course, was feeling ready for lecturing and not even Ginny, who had seemingly forgiven the boys, could keep her from it. Harry got the brunt of the "reckless" lecture, while Ron got the remainder in the form of "better body guarding tips."

Both protested that when a House Elf ghost comes to you and tells you to do something, it's in your best interest to listen, but Hermione would have none of it. "Contact the Head of House, or at least a Prefect before you go running out of the dormitory like complete morons," she said.

"Well, we did," Ron reminded her morosely, "and he got knocked silly."

"Sorry about that," Neville said with a blush.

Hermione turned to him grimly and then, he got _his_ lecture.

Dumbledore stopped by briefly before they were released and returned the Marauder's Map, but did not give them much more information than they already knew. Narcissa Malfoy had been inside Hogwarts, with an Invisibility Cloak and the ability to transform into an Animagus snake at will. Most likely, it was she who had tried to poison Harry, and she had blown her cover in going after her own son for revenge. The Headmaster left after answering a few questions, giving them assurance that he, Charlie and the other Professors were seeking to guard the castle against future entrance by any intruders, Animagi or otherwise. The Gryffindors exchanged looks, but said nothing. They talked quietly in the stairwell after leaving the Infirmary.

Draco had told the Headmaster he had been heading toward Gryffindor Tower in order to talk to Harry, which the Headmaster seemed inclined to accept at face value, but none of the Gryffindors were ready to do the same. Ginny, surprisingly, seemed the most ready to give him a chance.

"Well, Draco's plan wasn't all that good, was it? If he'd been trying to harm Harry, he'd come up with something a bit more clever and farsighted, don't you think?" Harry found himself agreeing.

"Quite right," Hermione said. "That's probably why Narcissa came out of hiding. She saw Draco heading for Gryffindor Tower and—"

"Threw a wobbly?" Ron suggested.

Hermione nodded. "Exactly."

"Listen to you, calling him Draco," Ron groused.

"And what else should I call him," she said primly. "He hasn't got a last name, anymore, besides which, it's childish to insist on calling him that. We're Sixth Years now; act like it."

"When he acts good enough for me to stop calling him The Prat, that's when I'll call him something else" Ron said stubbornly. "Not until then."

Harry didn't know what to call the Prat either, but he felt a twinge of sympathy for him, being put in the Infirmary by his own mother, and disowned by his father.

"He's got a pretty raw deal, any way you look at it," Neville observed, sliding his new wand through his fingers.

"Yep, and he's pretty deserving of it, any way you look at it," Ron said with a glare. "Stop wasting your time worrying about him. _I'm_ the one who's starving. Let's go eat."

Harry followed the others as they walked down the stairs, content to let them carry the conversation. He was feeling more and more reluctant with each step. What would he do if Pansy was there? His breath hitched in his chest. He couldn't think of her now without recalling how she looked last night and how they kissed. Heat flooded him at the memory. That kiss had been nearly atomic, but it had left him just as disturbed as Susan's had. The instant nausea had ended things just as quickly as they had begun, both times. In a way, he was thankful for it, because it kept him from getting swept away, but it wasn't normal surely.

What was wrong with him? Harry felt a bit muddled and could not think it through. Something was wrong with him. Very wrong. All the same, his feet were walking quicker. _Pansy might be there_. A small smile lodged itself on his face and he could not get rid of the buoyant feeling that accompanied it. Not even a sudden twinge from his scar and the accompanying sickening glee did much to staunch it. As soon as the pain was gone, a silly smile was back on his face.

Maybe _that_ was what convinced Hermione something was not right with him. Either that, or the fact that he ran into her when everyone stopped on the stairs.

"Harry, are you all right?"

"Just thinking. Sorry about that," he waved, indicating her shoulder where he'd run into it.

"Wow! Look!" Ron exclaimed, "A Ggalleon just sitting here on the steps!" He picked it up and goggled at it, a slow grin breaking out on his face. "And I know just how to spend it, too! Boyd Fletcher's new Quidditch Strategy Book! '_Really Offensive Offenses_.' I thought I was going to have to wait for my birthday to get that one!"

As he and Neville walked on, Ginny fell back beside Harry and Hermione. "Odd," she ventured.

"Why do you say that, Ginny?" Hermione asked.

Ginny gave her a quick smile. "I found a Galleon in the Gryffindor Common Room yesterday." Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. It sounded a bit like someone was trying to give the Weasleys a bit of cash without owning up to it. "Harry, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"No, sorry," he said shortly. "Wrong tree."

"Wrong tree?" She asked with a slight hesitation.

"As in 'barking-up-the'," he supplied with a smile.

"Ah."

But despite his rather witty repartee, Hermione was still watching him as they walked into the Great Hall. Despite his intentions, Harry's gaze automatically went to the Slytherin table. Pansy wasn't there and his disappointment was so great that it distracted him from everything else. He was almost to the Gryffindor table before he noticed the overwhelming silence in the Great Hall. His scalp suddenly prickled and he stopped short. All of Gryffindor House was standing in his honor—not making a sound, all eyes on him.

For a moment, he couldn't think of why they would do this. Had someone leaked something about the Prophecy? Just as Harry was about to panic, Neville spoke up from behind him.

"Harry? Do you reckon they heard about the fight?"

Fight? For a few seconds, Harry drew a blank. Then he remembered Narcissa and the invisible duel they'd had.

"Blimey," Ron whispered behind him.

Harry was extremely glad that Neville and Ron were still standing with him, even if Ginny and Hermione had defected over the tables already, grins on their faces.

He sighed out a deep breath. "Come on," he said, giving the girls a glare and heading for the seats that had been cleared away for him and his mates.

"Shouldn't we, you know, say something," Ron suggested as they reached the table.

"No," Harry groused automatically, flushing at the thought. Farther down the table, he saw Tobias, grinning with shining eyes, and Violet Hooch quietly smiling beside him. Looking around, Harry realized that some at the Hufflepuff table and a few Ravenclaws had joined in the standing silence. Those who weren't standing looked confused, and he could see others bending down to explain it to them.

The Slytherins, however, did not look confused. The older students were watching Harry with obvious smirks, as though they knew something he didn't. Harry turned his back to them and sat with a thump, disturbed. Maybe they _did_ know something he didn't. He sighed, listening uncomfortably to the round of scraping and shuffling sounds as the students resettled themselves and slowly started up talking once more. Beside him, he could feel the pride coming off of Ron in waves, and see the small smile that wouldn't leave Neville's face. He was glad they had some reward for trying to help him. There was no way of knowing how things might have turned out if it had not been for them.

As conversation at the table turned on to Quidditch and the Gryffindor House Team, Harry did his best to be interested and hungry, as he should be. But it was a long while before he could bring himself to eat.

His insides were tense, as if he were waiting for something, and not even the steak-and-kidney pie tasted quite as good as usual. Harry settled into a dour mood and watched the doors to the Great Hall with increasing frustration. Not even Ginny could get him to talk much. He kept wondering how fast she would hex him if he told her that he was remembering how amazing Pansy Parkinson looked last night, and how great a kisser she was. He kept wondering also why his mind wouldn't stick to thinking about anything _but_ Pansy.

"What's up with him?" he heard her ask Ron finally. "He looks like he's been force-fed bogey-flavored Bertie Botts Beans."

"Bogey-flavored Bertie Botts Beans," Seamus repeated. "Bet you can't say that five times fast."

Ginny looked at him coolly and repeated it so fast without stumbling that Seamus' mouth dropped open. Ron clapped the speechless Seamus on the back.

"She's got six older brothers, mate. She's very well acquainted with all the nasty flavors of Bertie Botts Beans. Especially earthworm."

Ginny grimaced and started to reply, but just then, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open and in walked Pansy Parkinson. Harry watched her breathlessly, feeling the tenseness in his body melt as he was caught up in the shiny blondness of her hair crowning her like a fairy-tale Princess. He was vaguely aware that someone was trying to talk to him, and he pushed away someone else who got in his line of sight. Pansy's gaze had found his and she was now walking slowly toward him. Despite himself, Harry found a smile creeping up his face, revealing to anyone who cared to look exactly how gone he was over this girl. But he couldn't help it. Just the sight of her violet eyes smiling at him made his heart pound. He was standing before he even knew it.

"Hey," Ron said loudly, jerking Harry back behind the protection of his wand, which he had whipped out and trained on Pansy. Harry reached out and knocked the wand down.

"What do you think you're doing?" he spared Ron an angry look before turning back to Pansy.

Ron was flabbergasted, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"Harry," came her beautiful voice. "Come here, Pookey."

Several gasps were heard from around the Great Hall and a swell of noise that almost immediately abated into breathless silence. Harry could feel the eyes watching him, boring into him, expecting him to do something—what he wasn't sure. But they all disappeared in the next moment, as Pansy once again smiled, and in that smile, Harry saw the promise of many more moments like last night. He took a step toward her and the Gryffindor table erupted into motion behind him.

Immediately, there were three people in his way.

"Harry, what are you—"

_Shove right._

"Hey! Wait a minute—"

_Shove left._

"Um, Harry? I don't—"

_Glare._

Then his path was clear and he could see her again. Pansy was waiting for him, smiling. There was applause and whistles from the Slytherin corner and a furor was breaking out behind Harry at the Gryffindor table as Harry stepped forward and took her into his arms.

"Harry," she said softly, "Kiss me."

Smiling, he bent to kiss her—his whole body tingling, feeling alternately hot and cold at every point that he touched her—thinking about nothing, closing his eyes, intent on feeling every second of this kiss—

Then Pansy was torn violently from his arms, landing on the floor in a pained and confused sprawl. Cries rang out all around. Harry stared at Pansy, the incantation of a spell echoing in his ears. Then he whipped around, wand in hand, pointing it viciously at the person who had dared injure his love—pointing it directly at Ginny Weasley, who went white and stumbled back a step, slowly lowering her own wand.

A hush fell back over the crowded hall. Harry's wand shook, but he did not lower it. He gritted his teeth.

Then Ron was in his face. "Oyi!" he yelled, pushing down Harry's wand, "You backstabbing—what the bloody hell's the matter with you?"

Professor McGonagall was limping up through the crowd. "Everyone stand back!" She arrived breathlessly and irritably on the scene. "Are you all right, Miss Parkinson?" She asked first, looking over to where Milicent Bulstrode was helping her up.

Pansy was sobbing so piteously that she couldn't answer and Harry growled, casting a furious look at Ginny. Ginny lifted her chin and walked over to stand by Hermione, though her face was pale and did not back down.

"Harry," Hermione said in a shocked voice, as though she couldn't form any more words. She grabbed at Ginny's hand and they held onto each other.

"What?" Harry ground out. "Ginny attacked her for no reason. Pansy didn't do anything wrong."

There was a shocked silence for a moment. Professor McGonagall stepped closer to Harry. "Mr. Potter, are you in control of yourself now?"

"Yes, Professor, but—"

"I did not ask for your input, Mr. Potter. Put away your wand, control yourself and I will deal with Miss Weasleys' actions."

Ginny's mouth dropped open. "But he's—"

Then Professor Dumbledore's quiet voice interrupted them both. "Minerva, perhaps you might let me take a moment with the young Miss Weasley." Professor McGonagall stared at him gravely a moment, then nodded and gestured for him to go on. The Headmaster smiled as he continued. "I believe that points must be taken from Gryffindor for Miss Weasley's dangerous spellwork here in the Great Hall. Is that right, Minerva?"

Professsor McGonagall nodded grimly. "Twenty-five, or I will hear from Severus on this. And she must serve Detention tonight."

Professor Dumbledore smiled again and turned to Ginny. "Is this amenable to you?"

Ginny, her lips pressed tightly together, nodded.

"Good," the Headmaster continued. "Now—everyone please take your seats. There has been enough excitement for one day already." Harry barely heard the sounds of the Great Hall coming to life again. He was still staring at Ginny, his mind reeling from the sudden desire to hurt her as she had hurt Pansy. But this was—this was _Ginny_, the girl he had wanted to _kiss_ yesterda_y,_ and it was suddenly all very confusing. What was going on? Strong arms jerked him around and he found himself face to face with a very angry Ron Weasley.

"What d'you think you're doing, pulling a wand on my sister? Have you gone barmy?"

Harry couldn't answer.

"_Oh!"_ Hermione's voice reached them and Harry turned to see her, pale, one hand covering her mouth, listening to something Ginny was whispering in her ear. Both of them were staring at him.

"Harry," Ron shook him slightly to get his attention and Harry focused on his face, now alight with worry. "Did she do something to you? Did that Slytherin _skank_ do something to you?" He let go.

_Pansy?_ Did she do something to him? Was that why he wanted to hurt Ginny? Was that why he couldn't control his own thoughts? Harry turned and saw that she was limping back over to the Slytherin table with Milicent, pausing to give Harry one more sweet look of . . . sweet look of . . .

Harry pulled his eyes away with an effort, feeling it all at once—that something was terribly, terribly wrong with him and that whatever it was, he couldn't even see it. He had to focus with deadly intent on the words or to make them come out. He looked up at Ron, swallowed hard and he choked out, "Help . . . me."

"NO!" Pansy's shriek flew across the room and pierced Harry in the heart. "Harry, come HERE!" He gasped and turned, ready to run to her, but Ron's strong arms held him back.

Professor Dumbledore stepped forward, between Harry and Pansy and raised his hands to quiet the buzzing students. "Now, Miss Parkinson, since your Head-of-House is not here, perhaps it would be wise for you to go back over to your own table. Nothing good will come of this if you interfere further, especially for you." The hard edge to his voice did not seem to escape Pansy, and she turned away to limp over to the table with Millicent, defeated.

Yet Harry watched her with a still aching heart, wanting to go to her, wanting to . . . _do_ something for her. He tried to pry his arms from Ron's grasp, but had to leave off. There was no way he was getting free; he could tell that by the determined glint in his bodyguard's eyes.

"Harry, please stop!" Hermione begged from behind him.

_Listen to Hermione,_ he reminded himself, _rule number one_. Harry stopped struggling.

Professor Dumbledore walked over, a sympathetic look in his eyes. "Perhaps you had best go back to your Common Room, Harry. I do not think you are feeling well." Harry nodded. "And Miss Weasley, perhaps you should accompany him. I believe you have an apology to make," the Headmaster said in Ginny's direction, surprising the girl completely." Ginny looked over at Harry, then back at the Headmaster. "Situations like this call for swift and decisive action, Miss Weasley, and the right amount of certain ingredients like trust and foresight. I am certain you can find the correct . . . mix to make things right. I know that your mother always did." With a decisive nod, the Headmaster turned and started walking back to the Head Table.

Ron let go of Harry and followed him out the door, to the buzz of hundreds of voices. Behind them came Ginny and Hermione, though Harry barely noticed them. Still writhing within him was the incredibly strong desire to turn back around and defend Pansy from . . . from his friends who were just trying to protect him. A cold sweat broke out on Harry's forehead as he fought for logic to come out on top. He didn't love Pansy. He didn't want Pansy. He loved—well, if he loved—if he loved anybody, it was . . .

But the words wouldn't come and Harry gave up. He saw the worried looks exchanged between his friends as they started from the Hall and had no idea what to say.

"It's all right, Harry," Hermione said in a forced-but-steady voice, "Everything will be fine."

Harry nodded and walked up the first of the staircases beside Ron. How had things gotten so out of control? The last time anything made sense to Harry was the night before his return to Hogwarts, when he went over his To-Do List for the umpteenth time in his head and felt a measure of satisfaction in the preparation he'd had over the last two weeks of summer hols. But none of that training had made him ready for this—an entire throwing over of Harry's mind all because of a girl—and not just any girl—Pansy Parkinson. But her name didn't conjure the horror it should. Instead, he felt the keen loss of having to leave her behind, and irritation at his friends for taking him away from her.

Over the very long journey to Gryffindor Tower, he had to force himself to not act on his growing anger. Ron's muttering and worried looks did not help with this. Eventually, Hermione called up and Ron stepped back to speak with her, leaving Ginny and Harry to walk the stairs alone. She was not any more anxious to speak than he was, her eyes fixed straight ahead on the passage ahead. They separated to do the password, Harry waiting behind the stunningly lifelike bronze statue of Godric Gryffindor as she whispered and was allowed to enter. Harry followed after giving the password and found Ginny waiting quietly for him inside.

"Good. You're you," she said offhandedly. "For a moment there, I was worried. Unless, of course, you're someone using Polyjuice Potion who just happens to know the password. But still, if you are an imposter, you're doing an impressive job with Harry's mood swings."

"It's me, Gin," Harry said in a low voice. "And I thought you were going to apologize."

Her eyebrows lifted into delicate arches and the brown eyes underneath flashed. "Oh, it's you all right. I've never understood how you could be so obsessed with your own problems. At least maybe this time you have an excuse. As for an apology, well, I am sorry. I'm terribly sorry that you're such an idiot!" Her voice cracked on the last word and she turned away, heading for the stairs. Just as she reached them, Ron walked in the portrait hole. "Good! Now you have another idiot to keep you company!"

"Huh?" Ron stopped up short. "What'd I do?"

"You're his _bodyguard!_ You should have come in here first!" She yelled down the stairs at him and then whirled around to take the stairs two at a time to the top. Harry looked over at Ron, wide-eyed.

"Don't try that innocent look on me, mate," Ron replied, taking a seat on the couch. "You _did_ pull a wand on her in front of the entire school."

Harry winced, now feeling horribly stupid. How could he have done that? He cursed and threw himself down on the couch.

Then Hermione entered and went straight to Harry's side. "Don't worry, Harry, we'll be right over there the whole time. Ginny knows exactly what to do."

Harry raised his head from his hands. "What are you talking about?"

"I think you'll just have to wait to understand," she replied, looking nervous. "Sorry, Harry." Hermione reached over and grabbed Ron's hand. "We'll be right over here." Ron shrugged apologetically and allowed himself to be led away. Harry stood, watching in amazement as they took seats at a nearby table.

"What are you going to do over there? What the _bloody hell_ is she going to do to me?" Now he was starting to get angry.

"Don't get cranky with us," Hermione said sternly. "We're here to help. Just so no one interrupts, I've charmed the Common Room Unenterable for now from the hallway. Oh good, there's Ginny. She'll explain everything."

Harry turned and tried unsuccessfully not to glower at Ginny as she walked down the stairs. She had a bottle of Butterbeer in her hands, and a strained look on her face. Harry narrowed his eyes but Ginny seemed not to notice as she walked right up to him.

"Thirsty?"

"No, thank you," Harry said through clenched teeth.

Ginny faltered, then threw a tense look over at Hermione. "Fine," she said to Harry, setting the bottle on the table. "Have a seat, Harry. This won't be easy to hear."

He didn't sit. Suddenly, before his eyes, he saw Pansy as she had been sprawled across the floor in the Great Hall, put there by Ginny's curse. Hot fury boiled up in him and he wanted to lash out at the girl in front of him. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, finding it hard to breathe.

"Ginny," Hermione said uncertainly from where she sat.

"I know," Ginny snapped, her tone so deadly serious that Harry opened his eyes again. "Pansy somehow managed to give you a Love Potion, Harry. Those feelings are not yours, they were forced upon you and you have to fight them. Do you understand me?" Harry's jaw had fallen open. "Use your Occlumency shield if you have to, but fight them!"

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Love Potion? _Love Potion?_ These feelings weren't his own, then. They were manufactured, forced upon him by someone else—by Pansy, the very one he adored. Harry sat down very suddenly, not even feeling the couch beneath him. He stared at the fire, trying to get rid of the empty ache in his chest that told him Pansy was too far away. And before he could stop it, his mind conjured the image from last night, from that wretched, wonderful moment when she had appeared to him in the Infirmary, all glowing beauty and softness . . .

"Harry?" Ginny was already sitting beside him and he jerked before turning to her, his vision a bit blurry. He felt nauseous and horrible. He couldn't stop himself.

"Help me, Gin. Please."

"I will, I promise. I just want to explain first. All right?" Her brown eyes were bright with concern, and she was holding a vial in her right hand. Once he nodded, she went on. "Mum warned me about this, that they might try a Love Potion on you. She's had six sons, Harry, and she knows what weakness girls can be for some boys. It's not that she thought _you_ would be like that, but she thought it likely that Tom would at least try getting at you that way. So, she sent me back with a supply. You see," and here, she didn't quite meet Harry's eyes, "the only way to break this kind of spell is to give your heart conflicting desires. I have to give you the potion again, make you—spell you so that you fancy me, and then the two spells will cancel each other out. You see?"

"You're going to give me a Love Potion in that Butterbeer?"

Ginny seemed to crumple in on herself. "Not because I want to, Harry. I _hate_ this, but now that Pansy's done it, it's the only way. And . . . I'm the only safe person to do this with."

"Hermione could do it," he said stubbornly, not really sure why he was resisting.

A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "I don't think Ron wants to chance it. Sorry."

Harry glared over at Ron, but couldn't keep it up very long. He didn't honestly want to fall in love with Hermione, either. He needed to be able to count on the two of them and complicating things would be stupid. But then again, forcing himself to fall in love with Ginny? Was _that_ really a good idea? He didn't want to be in love with Ginny, not when he was already in love with Pansy.

Harry groaned and put his head in his hands.

"Oh, Harry. It's for your own good. Drink this, _please."_

"No! I'm not taking some stupid Love Potion, Ginny. There's got to be another way."

Ginny's voice suddenly took on a growling tone that made Harry look up in surprise. "There is _not_ another way and you are taking this, you stupid git! Don't you see how much danger you're in? Pansy will hand you over to Voldemort the first chance she gets!"

"Harry, she really might have had you by now," Hermione said shakily, "only she decided to put you through your paces in front of everyone and it backfired."

Harry's mind was reeling. Slowly, he sat back on the couch, eyes drawn to the fire. For a long moment, he watched the flames dance hypnotically, his mind grappling with and trying to put off the inevitable answer. But after a long pause, he whispered, "I know she's dangerous. I just . . . don't really care."

"Then I'm sorry, Harry," Ginny whispered back, her voice breaking a little, "but I love you too much to watch this happen."

He turned to look at her in surprise and saw that her wand was out. Panic surged through him and he—

"_Obliviate," _she whispered.

A brilliant flash of light washed out the world around him and he felt as if he were speeding on his broom, faster and faster, into a void of breathless silence. Behind him, a dark roar was approaching, a chaotic frenzy of images and sounds that finally overtook him and then, with a jerk, everything grew still.

Harry looked around. He was in the Gryffindor Common Room. Ron and Hermione were nearby at a table. Ginny was sitting beside him on the couch. Harry stared at her. He couldn't for the life of him remember what it was they had been talking about.

"Here you go, Harry. You said you were thirsty." He took the bottle from her with a smile and noticed that her eyes were red.

"Thanks. You all right, Gin?"

Her eyes went wide and grew suspiciously wet before she turned away. "Yeah, I'm fine." She stood and walked over to the fireplace. "The Butterbeer is from Fred and George. They sent me back this term with an Evercold Icebox and a Neverending Supply of Butterbeer." She gave a choked laugh. "I think they want me to become an addict."

"Right. I remember," Harry said after taking a long draught.

"Remember what?" She turned to him, looking confused.

"Er—that Fred and George had given you the icebox and Butterbeers," Harry complied, wondering if this was a test of some kind. When Ginny frowned at him, he went on. "You said so last night, the _last_ time you gave me a Butterbeer, remember?" he added, his half-smile dying as she lurched to her feet, a hand over her mouth. She looked like she was about to be sick.

"I didn't," she said, sending a lost look at Hermione.

"Didn't _what?"_

"Give you a Butterbeer last night," came her faint reply.

Harry sat up straight. "Yes, you did," he insisted, unable to think in any other direction. "You gave me one right after I woke up. Remember, Hermione?"

As Harry turned, he was stunned to see how ghastly Ron looked, as though frozen in stone, and Hermione had both hands clapped over her mouth. Slowly, she pulled them away, obviously striving to remain calm. "I never saw any Butterbeer, Harry. If I had, I would have asked you where you had gotten it. Ginny," she said, pausing to swallow, "when Harry first woke up, you were standing there with your wand out and—and I asked you what you were doing. Remember? It would have been right after that."

But Ginny was slowly shaking her head and her words came out haltingly. "I wasn't—I wasn't there when H—Harry woke up." Hermione gasped, hands over her mouth again. Ginny didn't even seem to notice as she went on, her voice distant and trembling. "I went out because it suddenly occurred to me that the Marauder's Map would be the logical thing to use to find Narcissa Malfoy. I ran all the way there before I remembered that the new wards meant I couldn't go in Harry's room at all."

"Alone?" Ron choked out.

Ginny ignored him. "When I got back to the ward, Charlie asked me why I was coming and going so much. I thought he just was . . . teasing me."

Harry felt very muddle-headed. He knew that he should be as horrified as the rest of them, but for some reason, all he could make himself think was that if it hadn't been Ginny giving him the Butterbeer, then it must have been Pansy looking like Ginny, and that was okay, right? Or maybe it had been Narcissa? Whoever it had been, the Love Potion must have been in the Butterbeer the false Ginny had given him. _Damn_. Harry's head began to swim. He wished Pansy were here, and that just made him feel worse. Looking at the Butterbeer bottle in his hand, he let out a lopsided laugh.

"How do I know this Butterbeer isn't laced with Love Potion, too?"

Ginny looked at him steadily. "Do you trust me, Harry?"

"Are you really you?" He countered with ease.

"That's a fair question. Let's see, the first time I met you was at a train station, the second time was at the Burrow, where I stuck my elbow in the butter dish," Ginny began as if reciting a memorized poem. "I stood up for you in Flourish and Botts, when Draco and his father were being such prats. I ransacked your room to find that horrible diary and you ransacked Tom's lair to rescue me, which I still think was one of the bravest things I've ever heard of. In my second year, I didn't say two words to you, nor truly, my third. But last year, I wouldn't let you leave me behind and you stepped in front of me rather than let them torture me. I think that what you did in the Department of Mysteries, the way you handled Lucius Malfoy and the rest of them—that was the bravest thing I've ever seen."

Harry had tried stopping her at several points throughout her speech, utterly convinced it was her, but she seemed determined to recount everything, as though it had all been weighing on her mind recently. Now her cheeks were covered with a slight blush.

"Just drink the stuff, mate," Ron called over hoarsely to him.

Harry nodded and leaned back against the couch cushions, glad to have simple instructions. He heard an exchange of muttering over by the study tables, but couldn't bring himself to care what they were saying. The firelight was mesmerizing and the Butterbeer was good.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there with an empty bottle when Ginny came back. She sat beside him and there was an instant jolt in his body. He turned to look at her in awe.

"_That's_ never happened before," he managed to get out. Ginny shook her head, staring at the fire, her chin quivering. She looked so beautiful—the way the firelight caressed the crimson and dark auburn tones of her hair and sent waves of flickering light over her smooth skin. He adored every freckle on her nose and on her cheeks, and it occurred to him that he had before; he always had.

"Ginny?"

"Yes, Harry?" Her voice sounded pinched and odd. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the misery out of her voice.

"You are so beautiful." She gasped and held her breath. His gaze was drawn to her mouth and he couldn't look away. "I want to kiss you. Can I—May I kiss you?"

She didn't answer him. Instead she turned haunted brown eyes to his, giving permission. Harry's breath hitched and he reached out to hold her gently by the shoulders. Ginny closed her eyes, seeming awfully stiff. Harry hesitated. Didn't she want him to kiss her?

Then she huffed out an impatient breath and leaned into Harry. They lips touched and Harry felt his whole body shudder in response. As she moved against him and her mouth rhythmically caressed his, a pool of liquid fire ignited deep inside him. He grasped at her arms, pulling her closer. He couldn't get close enough, and he couldn't breathe and he started to pull her into his lap but—

"_Oy!"_ Ron's voice froze both of them. Harry found that Ginny was trembling against him, her face buried into his neck, and he thought it was possibly the most fabulous thing he'd ever felt in his life. Parts of him agreed, though his stomach was starting to roil in that familiar way.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Ginny mumbled into his neck and stood.

Harry blinked up at her. Had he done something wrong? He saw her tears with a sinking feeling. He was no good at this! He stood and touched her on the arm gently, wanting nothing more than to fix whatever it was. "Ginny, what's wrong?"

"P-Pansy," she choked out and turned away.

The name hit him like a bludger to the gut. Pansy? His mind conjured the vision of her from last night, the blond goddess with the cute, short nose and husky voice and he loved her. But no—he didn't love her. He loved _Ginny_. Again, he saw an image, but this time, it was of laughing, shrieking Ginny, riding her broom and Chasing in a Quidditch match so fast that she was breathless and windblown. She was beautiful. He loved her.

_No. _

He loved Pansy.

_No! Ginny! _

His knees gave way. His whole body trembled and broke out in a sweat.

He loved Ginny. But—

Harry balled his fists and shoved them into his eye sockets. Tidal waves of intense, punishing force were ripping through him, in two directions at once. A guttural cry began in the back of his throat.

"Use your Occlumency, Harry," Hermione said, suddenly beside him. "You can do it."

Harry felt Ron's hands on his shoulders, giving him strength. Taking a deep breath, Harry pulled up the screen of Occlumency and felt a marvelous easing of the turmoil for a moment. But it was not enough. The spells warred _within_ him, not without and they simply reached up inside the screen to continue his torment. _Pansy!_ The vision of her splashed across the screen. Then just as quickly, the image of Ginny as she sat beside him on the couch, face to the firelight, barraged him. _Ginny!_ Harry gritted his teeth.

How could he protect himself from his own mind?

Suddenly, he remembered an earlier instinct, a desire to wrap himself up in the dove-gray iridescence that formed his shield. If there was ever a reason to try it, this was it. With focus born of sheer desperation, Harry concentrated on the shield, forcing it to become malleable, stretching it around himself just as he would his father's Invisibility Cloak. He imagined it sealing off at the edges, forming an impenetrable barrier. Every crack of light, every whisper of magic was shut out.

It was completely quiet.

Harry found himself nestled in a place of rest and comfort, far away from the ravages of the spells, the uncertainty of his life, and the pain of what he confronted daily. His heart ceased to cry out for either girl and he knew complete and utter peace. It was so different—so amazing—that he simply rested and soaked it up. Here, he was invincible; nothing could touch him and there was no need to strive for . . . anything.

Then exhaustion hit him and he was almost unconscious before he realized it. But what better place to sleep than his own mind? A niggle of doubt wormed its way in, something vague about what Hermione would say—that maybe this could be dangerous.

Harry didn't know; he couldn't tell. But it didn't _feel_ dangerous. It felt wonderful and he wasn't ready to give it up. He needed to sleep. While he was sleeping, the spells would die out, hopefully, and he would wake to a much less confusing world.

Yes, for now, he would sleep . . .


	13. The Boy Who Slept

Sleeping a dreamless sleep . . . resting . . . being completely at peace. It had been far too long since Harry had felt this safe. There wasn't much to do here. When he felt tired, he slept. When he woke up, he lay back in the security of the shield until he felt himself drifting again. There was no need to hurry off and do something, no one to talk to or protect. Just . . . peace. There had been moments like this when he was a child in his cupboard under the stairs, late at night when everyone else was asleep. He would pretend that he had locked the cupboard door himself to keep anyone out, and that no one could come and bully him or punish him for something he didn't do.

Of course, that illusion of safety had lasted only as long as _they_ were asleep. There had never been true peace with the Dursleys around.

Grudgingly, Harry had to admit that this feeling of peace was an illusion as well. Small nudges from outside his little cocoon of consciousness were touching him now and then, reminding him that the world was still going on out there. It might even be those spells still battling it out. _Whatever_. This peace was far too pleasant to give up at present. Not even Tom could touch him here. He hadn't had a vision or a twinge of pain in so long that . . .

Harry frowned, or at least he thought a frown. How long _had_ it been?

It was discomfiting to realize that he didn't know; as nice as it was to rest, he didn't want to make everyone worry. They were hyper enough already. With a reluctant sigh, Harry set about unfastening his shield. Nap time was over. It was nice while it lasted. He ran his consciousness all along the smooth, gray surface of it, trying to find the edges that he'd sealed together. To his amazement, he couldn't find them. He did one side, then the other. Nothing.

A tiny niggling of fear introduced itself and Harry worked more frantically, feeling his way all around the circle. He was the one who did this—surely he could un-do it. An idea struck him, and he cast out his Sensing abilities, trying to find a reading on the magic he had used, perhaps to find a weakness or the last place he had used his power to seal it up. It was no use. He was on the inside of a magically sealed sphere that cut off all sensory input. He might go mad in here. But what could he do?

There was another nudge against his shield. Throwing himself against the area that had come to life, Harry tried to reach out to whatever was touching him. He didn't care if it was pain, Tom's connection or the touch of a friendly mind right now; he just wanted _out_. Harry began to pound on the sphere with spells, trying to break the fabric of his shield. It wouldn't budge and eventually the sensation of someone else being there disappeared.

Exhausted, Harry fell back into a trance-like state. It was some time before he could stir himself to think it through again and when he did, despair rolled over him like a wave. If no one, not even Tom was able to penetrate this shield, then how could Harry hope to do it? Now his body was still out there, helpless, unable to stop any of what was happening around him. What if all those nudges were from Dumbledore? Or Snape? Tom knew the Prophecy—damn Kingsley Shacklebolt! Tom knew that Harry was the One. What if he had chosen to attack because he knew Harry was neutralized?

With a silent roar, Harry threw spell after spell at the shield. Since there was nothing physical for the spells to hit, they bounced around harmlessly, jets of red light. After Harry vented some of his fury at himself, he stopped to think. He'd used Occlumency to get himself into this predicament. Perhaps Procclumency, the opposite of Occlumency, would help him get out. Maybe he could project himself beyond it. _Yes!_

_Procclumens_

But it was no use; even when he focused on projecting a certain memory with every shred of strength he possessed, he went nowhere. There was no one else's mind out there to project to. But he did not give up. Instead, Harry tried again and again with rising frustration and latent rage. How could he _possibly_ have closed his own mind so tightly that, not only could no one else get in, but he couldn't even get _out?_ Bottled up in his own mind, Harry released Bludgeoning Spells and Cutting Curses until he exhausted himself. He seemed to do that relatively quickly and wondered if the shield itself pulled a lot of energy from him.

It did seem to be extraordinarily powerful. Eventually, Harry became quite philosophical about it. A shield this strong would be useful in many situations, if he could only control it. _Is it possible to construct the shield outside of my mind?_ If it was, there was no limit to the protective uses it might have, for him or others around him. _And_—here Harry went very still—_perhaps it might be used to hold Tom **in,** to seal him in as it has me_.

His next thought came very slowly and chilled him to the bone. What if the only way to do it was to seal himself inside _with_ Tom?

_"One must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives . . ."_

The pain would be unbearable—he knew that—and a shudder ran through Harry at the thought.But despite his misgivings, the possibilities continued to race through Harry's mind. Perversely,he found that the more desperate he grew to discard the idea, the surer he felt that it might be the only way.

Harry sighed. It would be pure suicide.

_A last resort,_ he finally decided. _If there's absolutely no other way, I'll take it._

With that concession, his mind went blissfully blank for a while, exhausted from his earlier efforts of escape and perhaps from the effort of keeping up the shield as well. He rested again, as long as he felt it necessary. Thus it was that some time later, when he was startled to feel another nudge from outside, Harry was able to pull his mind together and cast a spell again, using the nudging entity outside as a target.

_Procclumens_

This time, he felt a slight give in the gray shield that surrounded him. A loud rushing noise swept by, and his vision seemed to blur. At first, he thought it hadn't worked, but then he felt the curious sensation of floating. And as he looked, the air seemed to fill itself around him. He was floating in midair, somehow borne aloft by a mild afternoon zephyr, accompanied by white feathers, the blowings of dandelion puffs and something mysterious that sparkled like diamonds in the air. It was quite beautiful and restful and he was tempted to lie back on the breeze and let it carry him. But then he remembered that he could not fly without a broom, and just as quickly, he saw his Firebolt under him. Automatically, his hands went to grab the broom and his body leaned forward in the sporting manner he knew so well by now. But he didn't feel like zooming around on the pitch. And after all, he wasn't on a pitch.

Below him was a field of flowers, mostly white lazy-eyed susans and a few taller red flowers that pinched upwards in tribute to the sun. They called to him, drawing him downwards and Harry gave in gladly, purposefully ignoring the fact that in the real world, flowers don't call people. He circled downwards, lazily watching the flowers grow larger below him. There was nothing to pull him on, no where to go and no where to be right now. Well . . . except for one thing. He _did_ need to talk to Ginny. That needed to be done.

Harry reached the ground and unfolded himself from the broom, collapsing onto the soft, springy turf of grass and flowering weeds. The blur of white and red flowers enveloped him as he lay back and watched the fluffy clouds pass across the sapphire sky. Somewhere nearby, a bird sang sweetly. Harry closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin and the peaceful calm of the day drifting deep into his soul.

When something landed lightly on his chest, he opened his eyes, somehow not surprised. A tawny cat with bright brown eyes and white boots on its paws sat serenely, watching him from its perch on his chest. It seemed in no hurry to leave. With an imperious expression, it—she, Harry suddenly knew—lifted a dainty paw and licked carefully at hair there, though the gesture seemed too tentative to do much actual good. In fact, she looked less as if she was trying to clean herself and more as if she were trying to convince someone that she was an actual cat. Harry smiled.

Instantly, the cat dropped her paw and stared at him in a decidedly affronted manner. He felt that she was demanding an apology, but the sight made a small laugh bubble up inside his chest. This set the cat to shaking, making Harry laugh even harder. The poor cat – looking none too serene now – jolted onto her four paws and dug her claws into Harry's chest.

"Sorry," he managed in-between breaths, "I didn't mean to offend you."

The cat gave him a pointed look, nodded once and then jumped into the tall grass beside him. Harry turned over to see the cat looking uncomfortable on the mound of stalks she had trampled, a lone island of hairy orange in the sea of green around it. Then the cat walked daintily around her small circle of crushed grass and paused to work it over with her claws. When she was finally satisfied with the state of things, she sat down and looked up at Harry with a disgruntled look that was very un-catlike.

"What?" Harry asked it, feeling very silly. "I didn't put the grass here."

The cat tilted its head to one side, peering at Harry, looking for all the world as if it wanted him to cotton on to something.

"Oh. Are you an Animagus?" The thought had just struck him.

"Of course I am," it said plainly, the words coming out a bit sticky from the rough tongue. But the voice. He recognized that voice . . . .

"Ginny?"

But in lieu of an answer, the cat simply stretched itself up on its hind legs and well—kept stretching. It went up and up until it towered over Harry and he had to scramble to his feet. As his view shifted, he saw that it had stopped at Ginny's normal height, which was just under his own, but she was still cat-like—that is, until the hair at her throat began to disappear, retracting back into pale skin, and the hair around her ears began to redden and grow long. Her body was changing all over, going pale and freckled, her legs lengthening, her toes becoming delicate and—

That's when it hit him.

Ginny wasn't wearing any clothes.

Harry jerked his eyes back up to her face, to the brown eyes that were slowly becoming more human, the pupils rounding out and the color deepening to mahogany. Did she _know_ she wasn't dressed? He saw no surprise in her eyes, only bright-eyed happiness mixed with a healthy amount of pride. Despite himself, his gaze fell one more time to see the smooth, pale skin that rounded out the clean, straight lines of her clavicle and shoulders. His eyes traveled lower and he felt his breath hitch as her small breasts with their delicate pink tips came into view. She was lovely and everything about her was so tiny, as if she needed him to—

Suddenly Ginny gasped and Harry jerked his head up, already blushing furiously.

"I forgot clothes!" she gasped to him as if he didn't know it already. "How could I have forgotten _clothes!_ I've never even. . . oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "You must think—"

He saw the horror in her eyes flicker and war with something else. Suddenly she dropped her hand from her mouth. "Oh, _hell."_ She seemed to be steeling herself for something. "It's _my_ dream, I'll do what I want!" Then she threw her arms around him and pressed her lips to his. Ginny was kissing him and every cell in his body was tingling, warming to the fiery desire in her lips. And god, she was soft. His hands crept across her back, sliding over smooth skin that pebbled into goosebumps as he touched her. It took another few moments for him to register that she was swept flat against him, her unclothed body pressed into his in a very intimate way. He couldn't get over how soft her skin was, and how much he really, really . . .

"Ginny?" A voice from somewhere distant made Ginny pull away, sadness lingering in her eyes.

"No," she whispered, "this is the best dream I've ever had. Tell me, quickly. Do you forgive me, Harry?"

"What? I—"

But before he could say another word, the dream dissolved around him. He was again, nowhere . . . hanging in space, somewhere in the depths of his own stupid, apparently overly-secured mind. Harry sighed deeply into the echoing silence, feeling acutely lonely. That had been the best dream he'd ever had, too. But had it even been his? Ginny didn't seem to think so. And speaking of Ginny, was she really an Animagus then? He shook his head, smiling. It would be just like her to surprise them all like that.

Suddenly, Harry realized there was again something nudging at his mind from the outside. This had to be the way out. Fiercely, he focused his mind.

_Procclumens_

The shield around him began to give again, this time completely. In seconds, he had penetrated its hull and found himself surrounded by a cacophony of noise so intense that he succumbed almost at once to darkness.

_"Pottttttterrrrrrrrrrrr!"_

As Harry was pulled with increasing speed back into blinding consciousness, he realized he'd been out only seconds. The spell was still working, sending out the warm memory of Ginny pledging to help him in his fight with Tom. Harry jerked back to keep it from completion. And as he did this, to his consternation, the spell changed mid-way. Without a conscious thought, he was now drawing into himself a thread of memory from the person trying to use Legilimency on him.

As soon as it came to life, Harry knew it was Snape. He was seeing Dumbledore's office and the flustered, wide-eyed man entering was Snape. The Professor offered no preamble to the surprised Headmaster, but simply walked over and leaned on the man's desk.

"Potter has mastered Occlumency," he said.

"Marvelous, Severus!" Albus Dumbledore raised a hand to congratulate him.

"Hold your congratulations, old man," the Potions Master snapped, with a show of rare insubordination. Harry knew, as Snape felt it, that the rudeness would be regretted later. "He not only held under my attempt to penetrate his mind during class, but he used that damn Procclumency trick of his to project the memory of my rescue of him from the Manor."

Dumbledore winced.

"Yes, exactly," Snape said, lowering himself into the chair that had been pulled forward for him. "The next time I am Summoned and The Dark Lord searches my mind for recent Potions lessons—as he always does, ready for more laughs at Potter's expense—what will he see? He will see the memory of how I rescued Potter from Lucius' clutches. Idiot boy!" he snapped, then rested back in the chair. "And yet, how fitting it is that he will be the end of me, when it was his father—"

Then, with a snarled _"POTTER!"_ and a whiplash of a spell, Harry was out of the memory and reeling in his own mind. Once again, the overload to his senses was almost too much to bear. Images, smells, sounds all crammed into his head in a jumbled order.

"Drink this," the familiar voice said, and Harry tentatively opened his mouth. The potion went down like water, but bubbled strangely in his stomach. The cacophony of sense detail began to blur and fade. Harry found that he could open his eyes and see his surroundings grayed, as though from the center of a fog. Unfortunately, the first shape he worked out was Snape bending over him.

The dark figure snorted at him. "Finally," he snarked out and turned away, moving to the door to speak with someone outside. "He's all yours. I only ask that you prevent him from exiting until things have settled down. We do not need another casualty. Potter—" and here Snape moved back toward the bed until his black eyes bored into Harry's own, "stay put or I will cut off your ears, grind them into powder and use them in the Sublimination Serum for my Seventh Years."

Harry's hearing had returned to normal by the time Snape had turned away and stalked off, but the boy was fumbling a bit trying to put meaning to the words. The world felt unreal to him right now, as though he'd been taking place in a drama for the past sixteen years and the real world was the safe cocoon inside his own mind. There was too much information to take in and assimilate here. What was that memory of Snape's about? And what had he meant—a casualty? Harry tried to croak out words, but just then, he heard a welcome voice call, "Harry?"

It was Lupin. Harry tried to speak back, but couldn't.

"Oh no, you don't, Remus Lupin," scolded Madame Pomfrey from beyond the door of the room. Was Harry in the Infirmary then?

"But Severus said—"

"You have been set to guard this ward and you will do it," she said shrilly, her matronly form coming in to view at the doorway.

"Yes, of course, but _is he awake?"_

"I've had no time to examine him and you are keeping me from my patient." She waved him away.

Quietly and firmly, Lupin repeated, "Is he awake?"

She took a long look over at Harry, who gave her a small wave. "Yes, he is," she said in exasperation, "Now go and do your job and let me do mine!"

Remus gave an audible sigh before raising his voice. "I'll come back in to see you after I'm relieved, Harry! Glad you're doing better!" Then the far door snapped shut and Madame Pomfrey turned to Harry.

"Well, Mr. Potter," she said crisply as she swept in past the curtain, "Professor Dumbledore said that that you might wake up today, and here you are! Severus is a miracle worker! How are you feeling?"

She handed Harry his glasses and paused to wave a wand over him, taking his readings. With his glasses on, Harry could see that he was being kept in a small room off the side of the Infirmary. It was bare, with only the bed and a small table for Potions beside him. The ceiling was much lower here, and Harry thought it felt much cozier.

"Oh my, you've had quite the nice sleep then," Madame Pomfrey concluded. "Your red blood cell count has never been this high, or your Magical Core so brimming full. Of course, it would be, though, wouldn't it, with that constant depletion and restocking of magic that your body was doing. Wouldn't be a bit surprised to see a few of your spells becoming more powerful, dear, and wouldn't that be a welcome thing?" She pocketed her wand and poured Harry a glass of water that sparkled like diamonds.

He drank three gulps and sighed. There were too many questions to be answered all at once. "Wh-what," Harry croaked, "what's been happening?"

"Well, we were quite concerned about you, naturally, Mr. Potter," Madame Pomfrey said as she went to straighten the sheets over him, "as it's been over ten days since we saw those bright eyes of yours. Now that you're all right, things can get back to normal. I was just telling Professor Dumbledore yesterday that it would—"

"Sorry, but—" Harry cleared his throat, still sounding like a toad/boy cross rather than like himself. "Where is everyone?"

"Drink some more water, and then we'll talk."

Harry obeyed, but the cold water rolled down into a stomach roiling with nerves. _There should be more people here_. And something seemed off in the nurse's mannerisms—she was too cheery, her eyes watery with emotion and since when did she order Lupin around like a child?

She fussed over his covers again, straightening some wrinkle that apparently only she could see. "Now then, don't you worry about your friends. They've been here on and off for the entire ten days. We'll get word to them now you're awake and they'll be up directly."

"Was it really ten days?" he repeated weakly, handing the glass back to her and sitting up.

"Indeed," she eyed him with a stern eye, ignoring his protests and resettling the pillows behind him, "and from what I understand there's naught to blame but yourself. Of course, that didn't stop those cretins from blaming the Weasley girl," she sighed as she moved back around to other side of the curtain. "But then she did do a risky, risky thing. Love Potions often go wrong, and here you were given two! And one of them right under my own nose. I'll never forgive myself for that one, I assure you, Mr. Potter. To think I was—"

But Harry wasn't listening. "You mean Ginny gave me a Love Potion in that Butterbeer? To make me—no, but wait—she _knew_—"

"Of course she did and she had to do it anyway," she staunchly. "It is the only way to break the hold of a Deliriously Desirable Love Draught, you know, which is what you were given. Strong stuff, that, and from what I heard, Dumbledore practically ordered Miss Weasley to do it. Seems that he and Mrs. Weasley, bless her soul, had been worried about someone trying this exact thing on you. And oh my, isn't Molly Weasley just the one to plan something like that! Why I do remember—"

"Oh no," Harry groaned, his stomach sinking at the memory of what Ginny had done for him . . . what she had done _to_ him. But no—she had been trying to _help_ him, in apparently the only way that anyone could. But ten _days?_ "You said some people were blaming her? For what?"

"For your coma, dear," she said in a matter-of-fact voice, heading for the door. "Now, I must speak with Professor Dumbledore. He'll be so pleased that you've awoken and I doubt that Severus thought to stop in. This might change everything."

"Everything," Harry echoed with confusion. That reminded him of Snape's words and he called after her loudly. "Wait—what did Snape mean—a casualty?" But she ignored him and continued clattering briskly across the stone floor. Harry huffed out a breath of frustration. When were these people going to realize that he needed answers as soon as he woke up?

He swung his feet over the side of the bed, marveling at how weak he felt. The room spun around languidly before re-settling itself. He really needed to see Ginny. Everyone had castigated her for trying to help him, and he wasn't sure, but he thought he might have been a jerk to her himself. _Did I **really** pull a wand on her?_ He dropped his head into his hands. His memories from that night were blurred, as though it had all happened underwater, but from what he remembered, he'd gone absolutely barking mad. Pansy Parkinson had asked him to kiss her in front of the whole school and he had actually tried to do it. Worse, he'd _wanted_ to! After all, they had already kissed once before . . .

Harry felt all the blood rush out of his face. Pansy had come here, to the Hospital Wing and tried to—to—

He ignored the nausea, stripped off the covers and looked around for his robes desperately. All he had on was those familiar Hogwarts-issue pajamas, but at least they fit better than Dudders' old ones. Where was his wand? Harry cursed and held out his hand. _"Accio wand!"_

There was a rattling from somewhere outside his room. Sighing, Harry padded through the door and over to a large section of drawers opposite the beds. Normally, Madame Pomfrey wasn't this devious about hiding his things, but then, he had snuck off once before when left in the Hospital Wing. He gave the drawer a hard jerk, finding it locked as expected.

_Time to try wandless magic._ He had only been able to make this work a few times in practice. Lupin had shown him how to focus his mind like a funnel and imagine the magic coming out of the tip, forcing his magic into a potent form. So Harry pulled up his shield and paused. Then, instead of trying to imagine the cylinder as he'd done before, on a sudden whim, he began to curve the shield itself. In seconds, it was joined at the ends and pulled as thin as a straw—thinner even than a wand. Harry focused on the drawer and whispered, _"Alohomora."_

With a resounding crack, the drawer gave and flung itself open so violently that it left the track and barreled into Harry's stomach. "Oof!" Harry was bending over, trying to reach the wand which had, of course, rolled away, when—

"The hero of the Wizarding World done in by a drawer. Oh, if only that Creevey loon was here to take a picture for posterity."

Harry bowed his head, acknowledging that fate had quite the sense of humor, and then swiped up his wand. Flushing madly, he turned around. "Malfoy. What are you doing here—faking a new injury?"

"Please. _Draco,"_ the boy reminded him in return. Harry nodded and grabbed his robes out of the drawer. "And no, I'm resting up after being healed, thanks for your concern. Are you actually trying to sneak out of here?"

"I'm trying to get some answers," Harry snapped, grabbing up his wand and levitating the drawer back into place. "Lupin should do fine."

"Or the Weasel, who should be here in seconds anyway. Rumor is that he has some sort of signal rock that is bound to you." Harry frowned, looking around. _Why hadn't Ron been here already?_ "And if you're wondering why he isn't here, let's just say that he had a family emergency," and Draco's eyes flashed in a horrible way.

Harry began walking toward Draco, trying to ignore the cold snake of fear writhing in his stomach. "What are you talking about, Malfoy? What have you done?"

"Done? Me?" Draco said with an incredulous smile. "I had absolutely nothing to do with it. In fact, I kept the Headmaster's little plan a secret even when it could have done me the most good. I'm trying to practice loyalty, you see."

"What _plan,"_ Harry ground out, hating to have to ask Draco for information.

"Well, one that didn't fool me, obviously. The Headmaster deemed it necessary to fake your return to health. However, I knew as soon as I saw the pseudo-Harry that it was Weasley again. Easy to spot once you know what to look for, and I did, seeing as how I was forced into being you for a time as well."

"Charlie. He was impersonating me with Polyjuice again?" Draco nodded lazily to answer Harry's question. "And something happened?"

"Of course it did, don't be ridiculous. This is _you_ we're talking about. As soon as Pansy's body was found—oh, that's right, you didn't know she was dead, did you?"

Harry staggered back a step, his thoughts skittering off in a thousand different directions. He didn't know how to feel. The impulse to mourn her was strong, but just as quick to react was hatred and nausea, betrayal and confusion. He didn't love her without the potion in him, but neither did he want her dead. The knowledge made his eyes water, as though they were crying without his permission.

Draco was watching him intently. "Well, she is dead, which is, after all—as I keep trying to explain to these idiots in charge here—just a side effect of having my mother lolloping about the castle. They truly need to catch her."

"Your mother killed Pansy?"

Draco paused and finally dropped his gaze. "I'm positive of it. She's his contact here, though she might have help." He looked back up at Harry. "Pansy was found the next day after Dumbledore brought out Charlie. Up until that point, it was thought that her attempt to do you in might have been successful."

"Why did Dumbledore do it? And what happened to Charlie?"

Draco smirked. "One question at a time, Scarhead. Dumbledore did it because your impending death had the entire school in chaos. Everyone seemed to think that it was that Weasel girl's potion that did you in. She was actually castigated by the Ravenclaws and half of the Hufflepuffs. Even some of the Gryffindors started to blame her when you hadn't woken up by the fourth day. That was when the Slytherins wrote a song in her honor _'She did the Boy-Who-Lived well in; Weasley is our Queen,"_ Draco sang softly.

Harry's eyes closed as he imagined Ginny going through all of this merely because she had helped him.

"There were several incidents and scuffles," Draco continued, "culminating in a rousing dinnertime row that was responsible for a fourth of the Gryffindors put on detention and over 450 house points lost. Students from all the other houses were injured and punished as well. It was gloriously horrific," he closed his eyes as if enjoying the memory. "They confined everyone to their Common Rooms for the rest of the day. I think that was when the plan was put into motion. The next morning, it was announced that you were awake. Church bells were ringing, choirs of angels descended from on high and the Daily Prophet was so excited that it sent out a Howler edition."

"When was this?"

"Five days ago."

"And the plan was Charlie Polyjuiced to look like me?"

"Yes."

"Well_, what_ _happened to him?"_

Draco straightened up, obviously enjoying himself. "Patience, Scarhead."

Harry whipped out his wand and held it to Draco's temple. Draco's eyes went wide and he blinked them several times. Fear was edging its way up into his pupils. "So. You don't like that nickname. Point taken."

"Tell me what I want to know and without any petty _snarking_. Got it?"

"Yes."

Harry pulled away his wand, giving a look to Madame Pomfrey's office. He could just see the back of her head as she knelt before the fireplace. "Quickly, but leave nothing out."

Draco took a deep breath. "Another Slytherin plot. Apparently there are seven of them—'The Seven Deadly Slytherins.' This time it was Goyle. I caught him bragging about it. That's why I'm here. I told him it wasn't really you that had come back. It's been almost two months since I had a beating that thorough."

_"What happened to Charlie?"_

"Portkey made to look like a Galleon. They'd been trying to get you for weeks, but you're not greedy enough to pick them up. Idiots. I could have told them that. And told them that any Weasley would."

"When did this happen?"

"Five—six hours ago."

"And you knew?" Harry's voice went up an octave on the last word, his wand shaking in his hands. If the git had _known_—

"No, no. I didn't know beforehand," Draco held up his hands, "I swear. I only found out in the Common Room because Goyle can't keep his fat mouth shut, bragging about how Pansy failed, but he was going to win. So I tried to rile him, get him to tell me more by making him mad. At least that part worked. All I could find out was that the Portkey went straight to Hell Manor."

"Hell Manor?" Harry forced himself to ask.

"The Dark Lord's Lair. Sorry," he finished shortly. "If Weasley went there, then there's nothing we can do. Professor Snape is waiting to be summoned."

Harry drew back visibly. Draco knew Snape was a spy?

The blonde smirked again. "I told you I had benefactors long ago. Why wouldn't you assume that one would be my godfather?"

"Because of your father," Harry shot back. "When he finds out that Snape is supporting you—"

"You think I run around telling _everyone_ who sponsors me? Keep the information to yourself and there won't be a problem with my _father_, at least not until I want there to be," Draco said disdainfully. Harry blinked, not sure at all when he made Draco's list of people to trust. It was disconcerting. "As I was saying, if Professor Snape is summoned, then, maybe he can help him get out. That seems to be the best shot Weasley has."

_Galleons . . . Galleons . . . _

A memory was tickling Harry's mind . . . one of the blurry ones, but he could still hear Ron's voice quite clearly.

_"Wow! Look! A Galleon just sitting here on the steps! And I know just how to spend it, too! Boyd Fletcher's new Quidditch Strategy Book!"_

And Ginny as well.

_"I found a Galleon in the Gryffindor Common Room yesterday. Harry, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" _

One moment he was remembering—the next he was running.

"Harry! Scarhead!" Draco yelled after him. "What the bloody hell—"

Harry was already out the door, sprinting by Lupin. "Harry? What are you—"

The Marauder seemed to feel that Harry wasn't acting rationally; two seconds later, there was a spell coming at him. Harry could feel it. Time seemed to slow as the searing red beam crept toward his left shoulder. With a grunt, Harry slowed, dropped to one knee and spun, ducking under one Stunner and sending off another in short order.

_"Prote—"_ Lupin, surprised by the quick attack, flew back before hitting the stone floor hard. Harry winced.

"Sorry, Lupin. I know you'll try to stop me. They all will," Harry looked up at the hallway as a clattering of footsteps and an odd thumping approached. He knocked himself over the head with his wand, Disillusioning himself just as the first head of red hair appeared at the top of the stairs. Harry stood and eased over to the wall, where a knight was standing guard. Slipping into the crook behind it, he felt its shadow envelop him in darkness. It wasn't that his Disillusionment Charm hadn't worked, but there was every chance that the stomping noise he heard was Mad-Eye Moody, whose magic eye could see through spells of any kind. Harry wished there was a way to hide Professor Lupin's prone form, but then again, maybe the man needed help anyway. He'd hit the stone floor pretty hard.

"He's fine," Ron said shortly as he strode forward, "stone says he's up and hungry—no pain. Much better than he was. He's probably wondering where I've got to."

Ginny, pale behind him, just nodded. Hermione had an arm around her, and was sniffing regularly. Behind them came Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Tonks and stomping in last place, Mad-Eye Moody. The sight of all of them made Harry's knees feel weak. Things really must have spiraled out of control with Charlie gone. Mrs. Weasley must be going spare.

"I'll not allow it, Arthur," she was saying in a determined, but weepy voice. "Harry doesn't need to know everything." Ron and Hermione exchanged pained glances. "That's just asking him to feel responsible!"

"Sorry, Molly, but Dumbledore insisted," Tonks said awkwardly as she scratched at her slowly lengthening, mustard-colored hair. "Doesn't want a repeat of last year."

Ginny finally spoke up. "He'll want to go after Charlie," she said softly. "He'll try it as soon as he can."

Ron had stopped and was watching his sister with a frown. "No he won't, 'cause we won't let him.."

Harry had to smile when Ginny just shook her head. Of course, Harry was doing exactly what she predicted.

"Now, I hate to keep repeating myself, all of you," Mr. Weasley spoke up, "but Dumbledore has got things under control. There's no need for Harry to go running off because the Order has a plan in place. All we need is a bit more time before it's put into motion. That's what we tell Harry, because that's the truth."

They all exchanged glances, and Harry's heart tugged at him. Maybe he should stop and let them he was okay. Especially for Ginny's sake; she'd been through so much since he'd been out. But something stopped him—determination to act, to help Charlie. _That_ would help Ginny more than anything else.

Harry watched as Hermione encouraged Ginny to start walking again. "Just think how relieved Harry will be to see you, Ginny."

Ginny barked out a laugh. "I tricked him into drinking Love Potion-laced Butterbeer. He probably hates me."

Ron and Hermione protested, but it was Mrs. Weasley's words that did the most good. She stroked Ginny's hair with a soothing hand. "He'll be thinking perfectly clearly now, love. Just be straight with him and he'll understand."

"And make sure you tell him not to be expecting many more kisses like that anytime soon," Mr. Weasley said with a half-smile.

Tonks snorted and tripped on nothing, almost taking out the suit of armor Harry was hiding behind. "I'm sure the Daily Prophet made it sound worse than it was, Arthur."

Mrs. Weasley turned a cold eye toward Tonks. "Don't say the name of that rag in my presence. 'Newspaper', indeed. Wouldn't know the truth if it came sashaying into their office playing the harmonica."

Ginny giggled a bit hysterically. "I can't wait for Harry to see it."

"He's not going to like it," Ron said as he ran his fingers through his hair, "especially that Sleeping Beauty bit."

Hermione hugged Ginny again, looking at her worriedly. "But we're going to tell him everything because we have to," Hermione said in a firm voice. "And then we won't let him out of our sight."

"Girl's right," Mad-Eye agreed as he stomped on by. "Boy can handle it. He's handled worse before." Harry thought the man's magical eye had roved toward him as he spoke. Could it have been his imagination?

"As I keep trying to remind everyone, he's not a seasoned Auror!" Molly suddenly snapped out. "He's a sixteen-year-old boy and that Portkey was meant for him!"

There was a strained silence as they walked on past Harry. No one seemed to know what to say anymore. Arthur had pulled his wife in closer and she let him, wiping away what must have been more tears. Harry was relieved they hadn't detected his presence, and slowly slipped out from his hiding place, determined more than ever to help Charlie. Just then, Ron let out a startled yell.

"Hey—what's—oh blimey!" Ron said as he rushed forward to where Lupin had landed. "He's out cold!" As everyone went forward, Harry ran along the wall back the way they had come, making for the stairs. Behind him, he heard a cacophony of voices.

"Is he breathing?"

"What happened?"

"Mad-Eye, is Harry—?"

"Nope. Sorry. He's gone."

"No!"

_"Oh, Harry!"_

"Mum!"

"Molly, are you all right?"

Harry couldn't listen to anymore. Wand drawn, he whispered, _"Accio Firebolt!"_

Turning to take a last look, he froze instantly. Mad-Eye was staring directly at him. The Auror was still a moment, then nodded his head at him jerkily.

Harry gave a quick wave, relief flooding him that he wasn't about to be turned in. As he turned to go down the stairs, the old Auror yelled, "_Constant vigilance!"_ so loudly that its echoes drowned out everything else.

Harry took the stairs down as quickly as he dared, wand out. His Firebolt almost knocked him off his feet as soon as he reached the landing. Above him, he heard voices shouting his name. He Disillusioned his broom, mounted it, and then he was off, bound for Gryffindor Tower.

Harry sailed over the next three flights of stairs, suppressing a whoop of joy that somehow bubbled up from under his anxiety. This was probably something that Filch would want to hang him by his toes for, but that just made it more fun. Hogwarts castle was a fantastic place to ride. The ceilings were tall and the hallways narrow, making for lots of hairpin turns. Harry zoomed by statues, past oblivious Portraits and over the heads of a few students that turned to follow his invisible progress with gaping mouths.

"What's that noise?"

"I felt a draft!"

"Was that Peeves, then?" Harry heard one Third Year ask an older student.

Once down in the main hallway, Harry could see that most students were still finishing their dinner in the Great Hall, though some had spilled out into the hallway. He stalled a bit there, noting the way that the small groups congregating there had a strange sort of energy and furtiveness. He supposed it just made sense. Surely everyone knew by now that Harry, or the person everyone thought was Harry, had been taken by Portkey. He shook his head and flew on, trying to keep his thoughts straight. If everything went as planned, then everyone would be celebrating shortly.

And then . . . for the first time, Harry remembered the name Draco had given to those in his house who were trying to kill Harry—the Seven Deadly Slytherins. The name left him cold. Pansy's Love Potion had been just the first attempt, then, and Charlie's abduction was the fall-out from the second attempt—Goyle's. And five more to come? Harry's stomach did a small flop, which grew into an ache of dread when he remembered asking Tobias Wafting to get information about the Slytherin plans from that Twitchtie girl if he could. _That_ had not been a good idea. Harry made a mental note to talk to Tobias again as soon as things settled down.

_Ten days?_ Harry gave himself a mental kick for staying down so long. He just hoped nothing had already happened to the boy while he was out.

Just then, Harry reached the Fat Lady's Portrait and wrestled with himself over the quickest way in. Finally dismounting, he hurried over to the portrait and froze as he realized that the password would have changed.

Harry swore under his breath.

"Oh my, who's there?" The Fat Lady paused before opening, but when Harry didn't answer, she just sighed peevishly. "Another student up to no good, I'll wager. What _is_ this house coming to?"

Harry looked around with fevered intent, hoping to see a student coming up, but there was no one. He would have to wait. Harry did not do waiting well. He gritted his teeth and sent mental messages in the direction of the Portrait Hole, _"Come out and go to dinner. You need to take a walk. You need to talk to a Professor. Come on, somebody, open up!"_

No one came, and Harry redoubled his efforts. To his surprise, the door popped open with a crack and Lavender Brown came out into the hallway, looking confused. Harry mounted his broom and kicked off, hovering above head level and ducking down to slip inside the hole. As he breezed by Lavender, she shivered.

"Lavender, what are you doing?" called Parvati from the couch.

"I don't know," Lavender said breathlessly, pulling the door shut and looking around with another shiver. "I just felt like the door needed to be opened, so I did it. And then I felt this . . . presence come over me."

"Really?" squeaked a Second Year whose name Harry could never remember. Suddenly, most of the Common Room was paying attention to them.

"Oh yes," Lavender said in a deeper tone, "I really think that . . . I think that it was . . . a visit from beyond the grave!"

To Harry's disgust, a respectful gasping went around the room. Lavender sat right on the floor there beckoned to some of the other girls, getting out Tarot cards like Trelawney's. Though some of the boys threw pillows in her direction and griped at her to shut it, Lavender had a fair audience of girls for her impromptu séance. Harry took off up the stairs as soon as he could do so without giving Lavender more mysterious wind to work with.

His mind was racing as he landed in front of the Sixth Boys dormitory. Still Disillusioned, he hoped that there wouldn't be anyone inside to hide from, as he'd be ransacking Ron's things in short order. Opening the door and swiftly moving inside, Harry was relieved to see the room empty. Then there was a hiccoughing sigh from behind Neville's bed hangings and Harry froze. Small sobbing noises escaped despite what sounded like desperate attempts to stifle them.

Wincing, Harry continued on over to Ron's bed, treading lightly. He had no time for Neville right now.

"Sorry, Harry," Neville choked out in a muffled voice. Harry whirled around, but the bed was still shut up tight. "'m so sorry." Confused, Harry stood stock still for a moment, then felt understanding dawn. Had no one told Neville that the real Harry hadn't been taken? Obviously not from the way his friend was sobbing.

"Bloody hell," Harry whispered in a tense voice, then turned back to continue on. He didn't have time to mess about when Charlie's life was on the line. He'd show himself to Neville when he got back.

As he reached Ron's bed, he was shocked to see Galleons strewn across it at random, as though someone had already been searching for them. Ron's money bag lay open on the bed. Harry grabbed it, fumbled with it and then threw it back down. It was empty—someone had already thought of this. His hopes fell faster than a Bludger. Had the other Portkey been found? When he'd overheard the others in the hallway, it had sounded like there was a plan in motion. And Harry easily believed that Ginny would have remembered the Galleon she had found, but Ron—?

Obviously, no one would be able to make the Portkey work except Harry or someone Polyjuiced to look like him and Harry fervently hoped no one had tried that. Surely Dumbledore wouldn't risk that. From what Draco had said, the plan hinged on Death Eater Snape and no one else.

Harry closed his eyes and tried Sensing over the coins, looking for a magical aura over any of them. In the darkness behind his lids, Harry saw the faint glow of his broom from where it was propped against the bed. There was also a faint overall glow on Ron's bed, as if it had collected the magical essence of the person who had slept there every night for years. But the coins themselves were like small, round voids on the bed. No magical energy at all. Harry cursed loudly.

A sudden silence fell over the room. Harry froze—all noise from Neville's bed had ceased. He had to do this quickly. There was only one hope left, and that was that Ron's rather impressive gift for disorganization had triumphed in this case.

"H—h—hello?" Neville's voice came from behind him, along with the familiar stirrings of someone rising out of bed.

_"Accio Galleon_," Harry whispered, aiming the desperate spell at Ron's trunk. Maybe Ron had put it some place else on a whim? But after a moment, he knew it was a lost cause. No coins came forward at all.

"Is somebody there?" Neville's voice was firmer now and Harry turned to see his friend standing beside his bed uneasily. The boy's eyes were red and watery, but there was a determined look on his face. When no one answered him, Neville drew his wand and his face darkened. "I know someone's there. Tell me who it is or I'll hex you where you stand." His gaze was off by about five feet, but Harry knew he couldn't continue to fool his friend.

With a sigh, he tapped his head with his wand and Disillusioned himself.

Neville went white as a sheet. "H-H-Harry? Is it really you? Are you—are you okay?" He jerked several steps forward and then stopped. "Did they let you go?" he asked, looking confused at his own question.

"No, Neville," Harry said quickly, "that wasn't me they took. That was Charlie Polyjuiced to look like me. I just woke up in the Hospital Wing and dashed here. Do you know who took one of Ron's Galleons?"

"Wow," Neville breathed, "so they didn't get you? But they got—they got Charlie instead?" He frowned suddenly. "By now, the Polyjuice will have worn off."

"Yes, it will and I've got to go get him back here."

"That's what _I_ was going to do! I mean, back when I thought it was you," Neville said, looking suddenly energized. "But the bloody thing wouldn't take me!"

Harry started walking toward Neville, his mind reeling. "You mean . . . you tried to use the Portkey to come find me? All alone?"

"Yeah."

Harry wanted to follow this up further, but his mind was putting two and two together—the Galleons spread out on Ron's bed, Neville crying on his bed, alone. "So . . . you've got the Galleon Portkey, then?"

"What? Oh. Yeah, it's right here, I think," Neville said, drawing it out of his pocket and offering it to Harry. "But it doesn't work."

Harry almost took it, but stopped himself just in time. "Wait," he barked out, taking a moment to Disillusion himself.

"Wow," Neville said, suddenly staring at nothing. "Harry, how'd you do that? Is that like the way the Aurors do it? Harry?" Harry's only response was to steel himself and force his hand forward until it grasped the Portkey. The world blurred around him in a familiar wash of reality and darkness that took his breath. Then Harry felt his feet hit the floor and he worked hard to stay upright. He saw at once that he was in a cage in the center of a shadowy room with stone walls. The wall directly in front of him had manacles hanging from it at random heights.

Then a klaxxon split the air and Harry clapped his hands to his ears. It was an alarm; it had to be. Around him, he caught glimpses of a fire place and a long table with restraints embedded in its metal sides. By now, the siren's noise had crept inside Harry's skull and he could feel it vibrating with each screaming pulse. If someone didn't turn it off he might go mad.

But just then a Death Eater appeared at an opening that must have lead to the door. He lurched forward with an uneven gait, clutching convulsively at one knee and at one ear. While several feet away from the wall, he aimed his wand at a section devoid of manacles and shot off a red jet of light. The wall imploded, leaving a jagged hole. Rocks flew outward for a distance of five feet, hitting the shield the man had quickly pulled up in front of himself. The man, if it was a man, turned away with disgusted, jerky movements and bent over. He looked like he was in pain. Had Tom punished his followers for not capturing the real Harry Potter? _Good_. It was making them sloppy now. The Death Eater gave the cage a cursory glance before continuing his pained walk back to the entrance he had come.

Harry took his hands down from his ears, horrified to hear nothing but a dull roar and the thudding of his own heart. It was as if someone had stuffed cotton in his ears. He shook his head and considered his situation more carefully. The first thing he had to do was find Charlie. Carefully, trying to make no noise at all—though he truly could not hear—Harry turned to look at the rest of the room, feeling suddenly sluggish. He stumbled forward and rested a hand on the bars, determinedly continuing to peer into the shifting shadows of the torchlight. Two walls were bare of anything but manacles. Turning slowly to the final one, Harry let out a silent gasp. Limp in metal wrist cuffs, feet dragging the ground helplessly, was Charlie.

His head hung down, obscuring his face from view. He was shirtless, with various welts and burns and cuts all over his torso and graying skin where it could be seen. The pants he wore—Harry's—had been ripped open in several places and blood lay darkly crusted at a gash on his right thigh, just above the knee. It was almost impossible to believe this was Charlie Weasley, and Harry had a moment of total unreality.

He seemed to float off from his body, his mind clouding over as it tried to reconcile that cast-off, abused body with the laughing, canny, second-born Weasley he knew so well. But it was impossible. It was absolutely impossible that someone could treat Charlie so horribly, that someone could pretend to be that unaware of how much his family loved him, how much they would die to be here in his place, and how anguished they were all feeling now not knowing. Then he remembered the laughter as Tom had tortured Harry at the graveyard, how the Death Eaters had loved to see the Boy-Who-Lived brought low, hurt and humiliated and how Lucius had continued that goal on his own.

With a jolt, Harry was back, feeling fury like hot lava bubbling up inside him, fueling his hatred and giving his mind a sudden focus. Tom was responsible for this. Tom had made Charlie suffer just because he wasn't Harry. A primal scream was pressing to spring from Harry's lips, but he bit down on his tongue until it bled and waited, trembling with . . . with . . . exhaustion?

Harry's knees buckled and hit the bottom of the cage. What was this? His fury abated, drained just as quickly as his energy had been. He could barely keep his head up. The cage was cursed, he knew suddenly without a doubt. He raised his wand with sheer force of will. Grunting with effort, he started to speak. But before the spell made it out, Harry's eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the floor, sprawled out. With fierce concentration, he kept his wand in his hand.

From somewhere distant came the sound of iron scraping iron, muffled in a strange way. The first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes was the Death Eater looking into the cage, eyes narrowed behind the white mask. Then his eyes fell closed again and he slept.

* * *


	14. A Dark Haze of Power

Chapter Fourteen: A Dark Haze of Power

The sound of someone screaming sank its teeth and nails into him, dragging him from the darkness, unwilling. He felt drugged and heavy, but his senses quickened as soon as he recognized the sound coming from across the room. Harry's eyes flew open and he took in his surroundings: the metal cage around him, the amber glow of torchlight. The fact that his body was invisible all the while kick-started his memory and brought him up-to-date. _Disillusioned_. _Portkey_. **_Charlie_**.

Another scream, hoarser.

Harry jerked upright, shaking his head when it went dizzy on him. Charlie was being tortured—now. Harry shot up to his feet, wand in hand, registering vague surprise that he was not being tortured himself. Malicious laughter rang out from behind. Harry spun and froze, motionless, feeling as if he'd hurtled the finish line only to slam into a brick wall. He couldn't get a breath. There was no way he had been prepared for this . . . .

Charlie Weasley was strapped to the table, arms stretched wide, taut and trembling against the metal restraints. He was silent now, eyes slitted in fatigue or relief, but his mouth was open, gasping for air. There were horrible burn marks decorating his naked torso, and slashes dripping blood on both of his arms. Over him were two Death Eaters, masks off, wands up, chanting and circling in some kind of grotesque dance of death.

"_Can he take much more? How much can he take? Is he crazy yet? I hope—for his sake." _

Then with a whirling turn, the Death Eater farthest from him, one Harry didn't recognize, jabbed his wand at Charlie. _"Crucio!"_

When Charlie again began to yell hoarsely, as if his throat was too raw to make much sound, Harry suddenly noticed movement in the ceiling over the table. Ducking lower to get a better angle, his jaw dropped. It was a mirror . . . a bloody mirror! As long as Charlie's eyes were open, he would be forced to watch himself tortured. And the Death Eaters could enjoy their twisted evil from any vantage point they wanted, could drink in every detail. Like Lucius. Just like Lucius' Hall of Mirrors.

Harry straightened and forced his gaze on Charlie again. The room was turning dark around him and his breathing grew harsh. It all came back—the helplessness, the humiliation, and the black roar of pain that was never satiated, no matter how many times his body was sacrificed—the convulsive reality of it had never left. He could still feel it, bleeding in his chest, leaking out of his eyes, screaming in his ears.

Then the curse was ended, and Harry saw, as if at the end of a long, dark tunnel, that Charlie sagged back against the table in deep, shuddering relief. Harry shuddered with him. Seconds ticked by, and Harry slowly blinked his way back to full awareness. This time, it wasn't him. A grim smile took over his face. It wasn't him they were torturing, and _that_ had been their _first_ mistake.

In between the space of one heartbeat and the next, Harry's wand slashed out and the door of the cage went crashing into the wall. The Death Eaters spun, gasped, turned their wands on nothing. Harry was striding out of the cage, toward them now. He didn't know what curse he'd just flung at the door; fury had demanded it, just as it now demanded that he take out every one of these—

They dove apart at his next curse, spilling fearful oaths into the air.

"Who's there?" one demanded as he crouched behind the table. A second later, he was flung into the wall head over heels. Harry vaguely recognized the twisted face of McNair as he slid to the floor.

The other man's face blanched and he ran from Charlie's side. _"Intruders, Master!"_ he yelled and as Harry bore down on him, the sound of a gong reverberated in the room. Wildly, the man went on, "He's coming! He's coming and you don't want to be here when he gets here."

"Oh, don't I just?" Harry ground out before sent a blinding Bludgeoning Curse his way, but the man dodged it by diving behind the cage. He rolled over and returned an Eviscerating Curse that would have sliced Harry longwise if it had connected, but it was still a good two feet to the right. _Disillusionment Charms work_. Harry, about to attack again, paused to run and check on Charlie.

He swallowed hard when he saw his friend's eyes were closed. No longer in Harry-disguise, his familiar freckles were connected by random dots and dashes of blood, displayed darkly against his pale, ashy skin. He was so still that Harry put a careful hand on his chest, and was relieved to feel the small stirring of breath. Bowing his head in quick relief, Harry inhaled deeply before turning to undo Charlie's bonds. The older Weasley's arms were cut and bloody where the restraints had bit into him. But Pomfrey could heal that when—

A red jet blasted the table just beside Harry's hand, scorching it so that he had to bite back a cry. He whipped around the see the lone Death Eater standing just behind the cage, staring at the ground behind Harry. At his shadow. "Got you!" he hissed suddenly, then aimed another Eviscerating Curse.

"_Protego!"_ Harry shouted and the curse rebounded on his shield, forcing the Death Eater to dive away from the bars. _"Stupefy!"_ The man kept rolling and the spell missed him by inches. He jumped back to his feet, grinning evilly.

"I know that voice. Is it a visit from the real and true Harry Potter, then? The one as fell in love with my little Pansy?" Harry stopped, searching the man's face, and suddenly recognized familiar traits. It was Pansy's father, probably half-mad already from losing his daughter. "The one what killed her?" Parkinson's face twisted. "If I can get you, Potter, the Dark Lord won't have nothin' left to spit on. You miserable, cursed—"

Harry's fast-flung curse beat his by seconds, but was aimed at the cage, blasting it satisfactorily apart. One section came nicely close to taking off the man's head. But Parkinson dodged it, screaming out something unintelligible before slinging another curse in Harry's direction. It missed. Footsteps rang out in the hall behind Harry. He ducked down, running for the far wall, thankful for the Disillusionment Charm. Parkinson's next curse hit feet behind him and the man continued cursing him foully.

Harry could just take Charlie and go, reactivating the Galleon Portkey in his Hospital Wing pajama pocket. He probably should. But something made him hesitate. It wasn't _enough_. It wasn't _nearly_ enough. That man had been torturing Charlie. If anyone deserved Azkaban, he did. _Lucius, too?_ a soft whisper in his mind suggested. _Lucius, too._ Harry agreed, sending off a red-hot Bludgeoning Curse.

It hit dead-on. Parkinson, who had been creeping along, squinting and spitting in his attempt to find Harry, flew back and hit the wall with a jarring thud. He slid to the ground and fell sideways, eyes wide open, just as the other Death Eaters appeared at the entrance, white masks in place, looking alert.

"What the hell's going on? Parkinson? Check him!" said one, sounding as if he were in charge. "McNair?"

"Over there!" Two of the figures in black headed for McNair's collapsed body, while the other two skirted around the collapsed cage to Parkinson, much closer to Harry.

"Someone's been here," shouted a Death Eater in a thick, guttural voice. He was heavyset and his movements seemed to trigger something in Harry's memory.

"Oh, really?" the lead Death Eater said, stressing the word with sarcasm, "Do tell. And do any of you see this invisible intruder, or does your upper level thinking extend that far?"

"No."

"No, sir." Reports came eventually from all four Death Eaters.

"No, your upper level thinking doesn't extend that far, or no, you don't see the intruder?"

They exchanged glances. One chuckled nervously, then answered. "No, we don't see the intruder. Do you?"

The Death Eater leader inclined his head. "He's a child and wishes to play hide and seek. Two of you cover the exit." The four hesitated. "Oh, for gods' sake, _you_ two cover the door and _you_ two scout around and look for Potter."

The two nearest Harry scurried to obey, the heavyset man among them.

"P-P-Potteh?" One of the men left behind stuttered out, raising his wand higher. He was the thinnest of the Death Eaters, and his voice had a nasal quality.

"Well, yes," the leader said lazily, heading over to Charlie's prone form. "Naturally. Who _else_ would have used the Portkey to come but him? Their first attempt at subterfuge was a disaster, and they won't risk sending another stooge. The only person idiotic slash heroic enough to come here and fight his way out is—"

"Potter!" one man said triumphantly, turning to look around the room with renewed interest. The other man left looked more hesitant.

"But Snape said he was still undah—tha' the Potteh brat was still in a coma or somefing. Ain' tha' righ'?"

"Well, apparently he's woken up. And he looks to be a quite pissed off at the moment, so keep your wands ready." He stopped beside Charlie and Harry's breath hitched. "Weasley. Too bad he's out cold. Might be fun to see him beg Potter to leave and save himself. That's what they always do." The bastard looked suddenly taken aback. "Was that a moan, Weasley? Not dead yet? In pain? You don't know the meaning of the word." He leaned over, close to Charlie's incoherent face. "If you're around when we catch baby Potty, _then_ you'll see pain." He laughed. A ragged bit of memory came back to Harry, of a man named Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix's husband. Hadn't he been in the Department of Ministries?

Harry gritted his teeth and kept his wand at the ready. As soon as they had their backs to him all at once, then _they would_ see pain. Rubbing the sheen of his wand with nervous fingers, Harry forced himself to carefully calculate the risk before acting. He could do this, _if_ he didn't make any mistakes. Right now, he needed to wait. Both of the Death Eaters at the entrance turned to look at Lestrange. The other two were splashing clouds of dust at the area around McNair, hesitantly searching for Harry. Their wands were up and they weren't far from Lestrange. Any spell Harry used would give his location away to some degree and then the odds would be five-to-one.

_No problem. _

Erecting the shield in his mind, Harry silently cast a spell against it, mouthing the words. _"Serpensortia Sextus!"_ From his wand came six hissing snakes that fell heavily to the ground just feet away.

"There," Lestrange barked out, pointing at the origin of the snakes. "There! Get him! He's there!"

Curses flew, hitting behind Harry as he took off in a dead run, his bare feet making no noise on the cold stone. He hugged the wall, hissing commands in the sibilant tongue of the snake. The snakes obeyed and slithered toward the Death Eaters. The two over by McNair were the closest. No less than four snakes went on the offensive in that direction, driving them back and dodging spells with lightning speed, intent on the kill.

"I 'ate snakes! Did it 'ave to be ruddy snakes?" The skinny one was trying to hold his ground, but shooting glances over at the table with Charlie on it, as if contemplating the jump. Harry found himself hoping the snakes were as deadly as they looked.

"Just kill them!" yelled the other Death Eater as he threw a green curse at the first of the four. It enveloped the creature in a haze of green, causing an immediate seizure. Seconds later, the snake dissolved. Two other snakes darted forward, and the man only caught one with a curse before the other sank its fangs into his arm. The man howled.

The other Death Eater screamed as well, then turned tail and ran for the table, the last of the four snakes in hot pursuit.

"Ahhhh! It's gonna' kill me!"

"I certainly hope so!" snapped Lestrange, "Can you not at least die quietly?" But he Vanished the smaller snake before whipping back to the other two.

Those snakes had slithered away toward the entryway and were now growing at an alarming rate, since Harry had sent two Engorging Spells at them. One Death Eater, the smaller of the two, had banished a snake as soon as it reached them. The other had been left to grow to ten times its previous mass. It scraped forward over the stone floor, hissing so loudly that the room rumbled. The larger Death Eater at the door threw a Scorching Spell at it and managed to burn himself when it bounced off the creature's scales. Even Lestrange seemed at a loss.

"Well. That's a problem."

Then the skinny Death Eater was screaming again, as the last of the small snakes had turned on him and chased him back over to Charlie. The idiot was actually going to throw himself up on the table! With a grunt, Harry spun a Stunner toward him and knocked him back off, screaming. The screaming grew louder and unintelligible.

Harry felt a brief flare of satisfaction before something hurtling toward him caught his eye. He dove but felt the sting of something catching his back and side. A noxious smell covered him and he came up with his shield in place He'd given away his location.

"I've got him! _Concidus!"_ screamed Lestrange. "_Excorio!" _

Harry, partly blinded and now visible from the spray of what smelled like tar, stood his ground and nothing penetrated his shield. He tried to clear away some of the globules of tar that had struck his glasses, and was only partially successful. Everything had a smear of black over it. At least no but Lestrange was throwing hexes at him.

"I can't_—they just bounce off—Ahhhh!"_ From the direction of the entryway came awful tearing noises and shrieks.

"Stop that thing! S—S—Someone—stop it! I can't—"

Lestrange stopped his barrage a moment. "Shoot for its open mouth, Flint, you idiot!"

In that instant, Harry cast a cleansing spell on himself—

The Death Eater shot a Bludgeoning Spell jet into the snake's huge jaws and it came out the other side, bringing blood and cartilage spraying over the walls. The snake collapsed.

—and Flint flew back threw the entryway, the victim of another of Harry's Bludgeoning Curses.

Lestrange whipped around, cursing colorfully. The other Death Eaters were unconscious now, victims of apparently quick-working venom. It was just Harry and Lestrange.

"Oh, so very clever, are we, Potty baby?" Lestrange said tightly. "Not so clever that the Dark Lord can't cure you of that when he arrives. His curses have a way of making things so very clear. Wouldn't you agree?" And on that last word, he threw more tar straight ahead. It impacted the wall and stuck. Lestrange moved on, slowly, listening for any movement.

Harry felt safe where he was. He had ducked down behind the large, fallen body of McNair, turned up on his side. There was lots of bulk to hide behind. Tar flew from Lestrange's wand again and again, bathing the walls all around, but little else. The man was careful not to turn his back to the area Harry was hiding in, and slowly Harry's hopes waned. Lestrange apparently knew almost where he was and it was just a matter of time.

Indeed, just at that moment, the Death Eater paused and pulled off his mask. Rodolphus was pale and waxy, his face so skeletal that he was barely recognizable. Tom did not reward his followers well. "Doubtless you already know who I am, Potter. You know I've been in Azkaban; you know I've seen the worst your side can do to me. And from what Bella has told me, I've seen much worse than anything you can do." He sniggered nastily. "Bella said that your Cruciatus was more a tickle than an Unforgiveable. Have you ever told anyone about that?" He was standing and staring out, addressing the room at large. "I imagine not. Wouldn't do much good for the Ministry to catch wind of that, now would it? They'd love an excuse to get rid of you, you know. Begging for it." Rodolphus smiled again, and Harry's stomach nudged its way up into his Adam's apple. The man was playing with him, as if he knew exactly where he was . . .

"By the way, the Dark Lord taught me this curse. You know what is the best thing about this tar? It's flammable. _Igneus!"_

And with that, hot, orange, flames shot from his wand, from the floor up to five feet high, burning until the tar itself caught, melting and running flames down into the cracks between stones. Lestrange laughed maniacally and sent flames just a few feet from McNair. Harry took off at a dead run in the opposite direction, hearing the flames roar behind him, eyes set on Charlie. It was time to use the Portkey.

Then Lestrange shouted again and flames leapt to life in front of Harry. The roar buried his own shout of fear. His arms went up block the flames and then he was on fire—his pajama sleeve blazed up—and his other hand seared in the hot flame. Then he was on the ground, squirting water out of his wand, coughing on smoke until his eyes ran, putting out the flames and jerking up the biggest shield he was capable of just as Lestrange sent the flames again.

Breathing harshly, grinding out his groans of pain, Harry pulled his burned hand into his stomach and rested it there. Tears were leaking out his eyes, and the flames in front of him were blinding, hungry waves that threatened to crash over him at any second. With a will, Harry stood up and started walking toward Lestrange, step by step. Ignoring the messages of pain his seared hand, arm and, suddenly, his face were sending him, Harry walked closer to Lestrange. He had to be close to the man to make this work. He wasn't sure if it would, but it suddenly seemed like the only solution.

Then the flames were pulled away and Harry blinked. Acting quickly, he jerked away his shield and cancelled the Disillusionment Charm.

Lestrange, only feet away now, smiled. "Potter, how nice to see you charred. My Master would especially relish the sight. Does this mean you'll come quietly, or shall I need more flames to convince you?"

Harry lifted his wand. _"Legilimens!" _

A blur of images came at him so quickly that he had difficulty sorting them out: a tall, thin man holding the hand of a little girl, a blond wig and a dark one, red eyes and an outstretched wand, Charlie Weasley screaming—

Then flames were coming at Harry again, and he jerked up his shield. But he was close enough now to see the dark eyes narrowed in malicious glee, and he focused on them through the flames. The dark eyes faltered, then widened.

Harry's gray screen in his mind was now wand-shaped and pointed at Lestrange. With a roar of fierce determination, Harry attacked Lestrange's mind, jabbing at the man's consciousness, seeking to tear anything vulnerable, to end the flames. Two seconds later, the fire was gone. Lestrange gave a strange bleating noise and collapsed on the spot. Harry staggered and stared at the man for a moment. What had he just done?

Glancing around at the room, he was amazed to see it looking so destroyed. There was burning tar still seeping in the cracks of the floor, blood, guts and ooze from the snake scattered about, five bodies in various disarray, one torn apart so viciously by the snake that Harry had to turn away. He picked his way around the broken bits of the cage walked over to Charlie, finally realizing that the one sleeve of his pajamas that had caught on fire was blackened, but still in one piece. In fact, it didn't feel as if his arm was badly burned underneath. He looked at the Infirmary pajamas with newfound respect.

Feeling as if he hadn't been breathing properly for a long time, Harry sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. New resolve slowly filled his mind. He needed to get Charlie to Hogwarts so Madame Pomfrey could tend to him. Right. But leaving all these Death Eaters alive and ready to pick up their activities at a moment's notice just didn't seem right.

Harry turned and held up his wand_. "Accio wands!"_ From every corner of the room came wands propelled in his direction, raining to the floor beside him. He stowed his wand in its holder and tucked the rest in the pocket of his pajamas, careful to put them in the pocket that wasn't holding the Galleon. Now to get Charlie out. Tom wasn't here and obviously, Tom wasn't coming. If Harry was honest with himself, he was half-disappointed. A grim smile wreathed his face. At least he was leaving _them_ humiliated and torn apart this time.

Charlie was still on the table, breathing softly and moaning under his breath. Harry's chest got tight as he drew nearer and he looked away from his friend again. The movement overhead caught his eye and Harry stared up at the mirror, revulsed.

There lay Charlie, broken and on display like a discarded body at the morgue, with Harry beside him, his pale face reddened on one side by burns, his hair singed and disheveled. Another time gripped him, a memory of seeing himself in the mirrored hall at Malfoy Manor, beaten and humiliated by the hand of one of the Dark Lord's own. Bitterness twisted his face, fury gripped him and his wand was in his hand before he knew it.

Caution barely won out. _Wait_.

Harry looked back down at Charlie and lifted him with a whispered, _"Mobililus Corpus."_ After Charlie was out of the way, Harry looked up and directed the gray shield in his mind, forming a wand and sending a vicious Bludgeoning Curse upwards. The blow shattered the glass on impact, and broken shards like jagged hail rained down on the table beneath. Harry let himself imagine Lucius tied down there—impaled over and over again—before turning away.

He knelt and canceled the spell holding Charlie, then spent a few seconds adjusting his weight, worried about aggravating Charlie's injuries. Forcing himself to go quickly, he took Charlie's hand in his own burned one, the pain making him light-headed. _"Accio Galleon,"_ he whispered, and as the coin flew out of his pocket, he forced his hand and Charlie's to close upon it.

There was a jerk behind his navel, a rush of wild colors and a yell of pain that Harry knew to be his own. He half-expected Tom to interrupt him again, but the colors of Gryffindor's Sixth Year Boys' Dorm settled around them and a familiar yell sounded in his ear.

"Harry!" Pounding footsteps came near, and it was Ron kneeling by him. "Mate!" he said hoarsely, "I didn't think you were—" his eyes went to Charlie and stayed there, words and all thought seeming to leave him at once. "Is he—?"

There was a strange whispering from out in the hallway, as if people were crowded out there, waiting, but Harry couldn't think why that would be.

"He's alive. He needs help." Harry started to shift Charlie onto the floor as carefully as he could, hearing voices out in the hallway spreading the news. Ron was stiff as a poker, and so pale Harry wondered if he were going to faint.

"Let me help, Harry," came a sleep-roughened voice, and Dean was on Charlie's other side, easing him into a more comfortable position. "He looks bad, Ron. Maybe you should call Dumbledore."

"Already done," called a voice from the doorway, and Harry looked over to see Hermione's wan face just outside. She tried to smile at him, then froze, seeming to suck in a breath at the sight of him. "Oh, Harry—"

"I'm fine," he called to her in a hoarse voice, "tell everyone I'm fine." But he wasn't. He turned back to the other boys, his hand hurting so badly that simply breathing was a chore.

Mrs. Weasley's voice, thick with relief, came next from the hallway. "Boys, be careful with him—oh, Harry! Harry, you did it, didn't you? Oh, bless you boy, you brought back my Charlie to me!" Harry glanced over and felt his eyes tear up as she started sobbing. He was split down the middle—relieved to be back, but ashamed that Charlie had been in danger because of him _again_.

"Harry, our thanks can never be enough," Mr. Weasley put in, sticking his head through and smiling at Harry briefly. "Ron, let's get Charlie to the Infirmary,"

"Oh, right," Ron said distantly, holding his wand out and blinking as though a fog had been obscuring his sight. "Charlie to the Infirmary." But it was Neville who stepped forward and whispered the incantation, and Ron followed him blankly. Harry found himself being helped up by Seamus.

"Looks like you got tangled up with another Blast-Ended Skrewt, Harry," he said with a wan smile. "Poppy won't be happy about that at all." Harry smiled a bit at the familiar use of the Healer's nickname, but couldn't say anything. His hand was on fire, and the rest of his body was sweating to keep up. "You know those extra wards they put up on our dorm room? Well they work dem fine! When the Weasleys and the girls rushed in here to find you, they ended up wandless and tied from head to foot. I was laughing so hard when I came in that it was a while before I realized something was really wrong." He swallowed. "Glad you're back, mate. We were running out of ways to keep Ron put. And Neville was almost as bad."

"That's the truth," Dean muttered. Harry nodded, wishing he could clear away the fog that was creeping into his own head. So _that_ was why everyone was still in the hallway—the wards. "What's wrong with your hand?" Harry was holding it in tight to his stomach, trying to keep from jostling it.

"Burned," he said shortly. "Dean, there's wands in my pocket—Death-Eater wands. Would you get them out and give them to Dumbledore?"

"What?" Dean said incredulously. "Blimey, of course. You really beat them, then, didn't you?" He shook his head, seeming to need to clear it, then stuck his hand in the pocket of Harry's pajamas and pulled out seven wands. "Cor. Did you kill them, Harry?"

"No, of course not," he said emphatically, then hesitated. "Well, not all of them. I think three were dead." It was disconcerting to him to remember. He hadn't actually cast the killing curse; his snakes had done the work for him. But it was his spell nonetheless.

Dean and Seamus exchanged looks. Seamus, looking awed, reached for the wands in Dean's hands, cursing low under his breath.

"Who'd you get?" Neville asked quietly, and Harry turned to look him in the eyes. They'd never spoken of it, but Harry knew they both wanted revenge on the same person.

"Bellatrix wasn't there. I, er, hurt Rodolphus pretty bad, though. Took out Marcus Flint with a Bludgeoning Curse and Pansy Parkinson's Dad, as well. Not sure of who the dead are."

"Flint?" Dean muttered. "Imagine that. Flint."

"Good job, Harry," Neville said in a voice that grew more unsteady as he went, "good on you. Just . . . next time . . . take me, too, okay?" His pleading eyes made their point and then the taller boy turned away. Harry said nothing, slightly taken aback.

Now they were at the door and the next few minutes went by in a sort of a blur of concerned faces and hushed voices. No one asked him any direct questions and the world began to narrow down to him and the pain in his arm. He knew that Mr. Weasley had covered Charlie in a thin, silky blanket that he conjured, and was now levitating his son to the Infirmary. He had heard the stampings of feet as the other Gryffindors arrived from their dormitories into the Common Room, and barely managed to notice that many started yelling encouraging but meaningless things as he left the room, like "Way to go, Harry!" and "We knew you'd be back!" and rot like that. He had to remind himself that they'd been worried about him all day, and managed to give them a wave that sent up a cheer just as he climbed through the Portrait Hole.

"Yeah," Ron said, suddenly beside Harry as they climbed up a narrow ridge of stairs Harry had never been on before. "Yeah, you're back. And you did it. I don't know mate," he said with a serious look on his face, "maybe there's something to this you-being-the-One thing after all."

Harry gave a sideways glance and was glad to see him smiling a bit, even though he was still pale.

"Thanks, mate," he said, clapping a hand on Harry's back and jarring Harry's hand terribly. "Oh—sorry! Sorry! It's that bad, huh?"

After a few minutes of apologizing and trying to help Harry which only ended up in hurting him more, Ron left well enough alone and pulled out the stone. "It's been going nutters ever since you woke up. Hungry, in pain, unconsciousness, in a hell of a lot of pain once or twice." He slipped it back into his pocket. "I dunno. Kind of makes it harder in a way not to be there with you."

"Where's Hermione?" Harry finally thought to ask.

"She's got Prefect duty tonight in the dorm, all of 'em do since you're back and so much has gone wrong around here lately. Security's been beefed up a bit. Teachers walking the corridors, you know." Harry was glad to hear Ron talking more normally again, but he could still hear the tenseness in his friend's voice. "But it's Nnot enough if you take into account what happened—what happened today."

The processional marched on, and Harry knew they were taking shortcuts to the Infirmary he should be watching carefully, but wasn't. The hallways must have been cleared out ahead of time, because they saw no gaping students, and no other teachers. He kept looking at the other Weasleys, noting the horrified, but hopeful, looks on their faces. Fred and George were the only ones not present, and Harry wanted to ask where they were, but kept his own counsel. Bill's face was ashen and set in granite as he helped his mum along.

"Almost there, Harry," he asked tersely and gave him a brief look before moving on. Harry nodded, and kept climbing the stairway. He had the impression that they were just going to keep climbing up to the Astronomy Tower and send Charlie off to St. Mungo's on a broomstick ambulance. The image was enough to make him smile. Then his knees gave way and he sat heavily on the stone stairs. He didn't think he would be able to stand again without help. Why didn't they—

Then several people exclaimed as the stairs gave a jolt, then a heave and started to move up on their own. Ron cursed loudly.

"_Ronald Bilius Weasley!"_

"Hang on to the rails, every one," Bill shouted, "Harry's triggered the Infirmary Upscalator."

And so he had. It was a nice ride—much nicer than walking. The Upscalator moved as smoothly as Harry needed it to and came to a complete halt as soon as Harry reached the top. There, it propped the step Harry was seated on up enough for him to step down easily. Bill caught his good hand with a grin, then apologized as Harry winced. His "good" hand still had a good burn from one of Parkinson's curses and he showed it to Bill ruefully.

"Best get you patched up, eh?" Bill said, leading Harry through the doors. "And this time, try to stay put 'til they kick you out." He ruffled Harry's hair, then seemed to think better of it and leaned over to give Harry a one-armed hug. "Thanks, Harry. Anything you need—ever—you let me know."

Madame Pomfrey was directing Mr. Weasley to put Charlie in an empty bed nearest the corner, and she immediately pulled the sheet. Harry could hear Mrs. Weasley following her, trying to make her understand that he was injured as well. But he hoped the Healer would tend to Charlie first; he needed it worst.

"Oh, Harry," said a quiet voice, and Harry turned to see Ginny beside him. She was studying his face and for some reason he suddenly felt as if he wanted to burst into tears. Instead, he swallowed hard and looked at the floor. She was going to yell at him for disappearing like that, he knew. Or maybe she would feel the need to apologize for the Love Potion fiasco first. He didn't want her to do either. Instead, to his relief, soft arms slid around his waist, her head leaned against his chest and she sighed, "thank you. I didn't want you to do it, but I'm so glad you did. You have no idea . . . how horrible it was . . . but I knew you'd come back." She pulled away to look at him, her face transformed from sadness and tears by the brilliant light in her eyes. "I told them all you'd do it."

Harry flushed, and felt suddenly very unwell. It must have shown on his face, because Ginny let him go and stepped back. "We need to get you into bed," she said, a brisk note creeping into her voice. "You and I can talk later. Now, don't argue with me." But he wasn't going to. He had just opened his mouth to ask what she wanted to talk about. But as she directed him to a nearby bed, he suddenly felt that he didn't need to ask. There were things he wanted to say to her, too.

"Be right back, mate," Ron said quietly and walked with Bill over to check on Charlie. Ginny helped Harry pull back the covers and get him settled.

The drawling voice that came almost immediately from across the room grated on Harry's last nerves. "Well, look who made it back in one piece: The-Boy-Who-Lives-for-Attention. Have a good time getting in the headlines?"

Harry snapped back without even looking, which was probably a mistake. "No, Draco, your father wasn't there—now quit needling me for information and go back to sulking."

He barely had time to notice that Draco seemed to have snapped before the wild-looking youth jumped to his feet, picked up a thankfully empty chamber pot nearby and chucked it right at Harry. As luck would have it, the pot connected with Harry's bad arm. Thus it was that , and the chamber pot did what five Death Eaters had not accomplished—knocked him out cold. The last thing he heard was Malfoy's howl of, _"Nooooooo!"_

And, somehow, he knew that a very powerful Bat Bogey Hex was being given at that very moment.


	15. Harry in the Sky

_Chapter 15: Harry in the Sky_

Maybe he shouldn't have woken up.

From the way the entire left side of his body had gone into paroxysms of pain, Harry thought that might be the case. The pain radiated from his hand, but for some reason, it had spread and now he was forced to groan through every breath, long and slow. It helped, almost as if he were letting out some of the pain with each release of breath. But there was a down side, and that was that everyone knew that he was in pain; Harry never liked letting that sort of thing get out.

"Merlin. I thought he was still unconscious," Ginny's voice said from somewhere nearby. From her footsteps, Harry could tell she was coming back to check on him. "Draco, how long has he been awake?"

The answer was so quiet that Harry couldn't hear it.

"Why didn't you call me?" Ginny snapped out, then bent over Harry. He could feel the whisper of air as she leaned over him, and wished he could stop moaning. "Harry," she said in a soft, mellow voice, "Madame Pomfrey gave me this potion for pain, since she's busy with Charlie, but you have to sit up to drink it. I'm sorry. Harry?"

Easier said than done. Harry watched from behind his lids as the world went psychedelic with every shift of his body. Somehow, he got up, then found himself leaning heavily against Ginny. When had she gotten so good at doing Madame Pomfrey's job? It was hard to breathe, but at least that meant Harry couldn't groan. He drank the potion with a grimace, then opened his eyes as it slid down. Ginny's face was close and blurry; he didn't have on his glasses.

"Thanks," he whispered in what he hoped was at least a semi-grateful way before giving in and lying back on the bed again. She pulled her arm from behind his shoulders and settled him back comfortably. He watched her blurrily. "So you're . . . giving potions now?"

"Yeah. I was here so much the last time you were recovering that Madame Pomfrey started training me a bit. I like Healing. I'm sorry you were in such pain. If the ferret had just done his job—" she bit off her words with a huff of disgust.

"He deserves to be in pain," snapped from somewhere nearby.

There was a rustle of robes and Harry knew Ginny's wand was out. Her voice was ice cold. "My brother is lying at the other end of the Hospital Wing, and Harry—HARRY—is lying here; _both_ are in pain and both almost died tonight. I don't think you want to be dicking around with me right now."

"Need any help with that, Bitsy," came a cheerful, familiar voice. Harry looked up to see Fred and George coming from across the Ward. "Mum sent us over to see what's up . . . with . . . Harry." George trailed off; Ginny had swung around, and her wand was now trained on them.

"_What_ did you call me?"

"Possibly not a good time to joke, my esteemed brother," Fred said as he froze in place, hands up.

"Sorry, Gin, just slipped out," managed George, shrugging though he kept still. Harry knew the twins had said they respected Ginny's power, but this was still surprising. The pause went a little too long and Harry shot a glance at Ginny, then peered harder to see if her face really had crumpled as he thought it might have. He grabbed over at the table beside him, finding his glasses and jamming them on. Yes, she _was_ going to cry.

Fred and George were exchanging wide-eyed looks, deciding something in a split-second between them. George frowned and then Fred nodded. They turned back to Ginny, adopting similarly sweet expressions and walking around to each side of Ginny, who had now lowered her wand and was covering her face with one hand.

"It's been too much for our little Gin-Gin," Fred cooed, taking Ginny's arms and leading her toward the chair beside Harry's bed. "She's all done in, poor little tyke."

"Oh, stop it, you sot," Ginny said in watery voice, pushing Fred's hands away.

George, who was holding the chair ready for her, merely added, "Tut, tut, dearie. Little poppets need to have sweet manners."

Ginny managed a half-hearted glare. "Come a bit closer and I'll hex _your_ little poppet."

George smiled at Harry ruefully. "She's a delicate one, is our little lamb."

Harry blinked, still a bit stunned at her very private threat, but then, she did have six older brothers to deal with; she had probably learned very quickly the best way to incapacitate them.

Ginny groaned and gave in as Fred bustled her over to the chair with so many fawning, patting movements that Harry had to smile. "Just have a little rest, now, here you go, Bitsy." Ginny froze again at the nickname, then glared at her brothers and for just a moment, it looked as if she was going to lash out at them. Then slowly, a weak smile crept over her face, and the twins broke out into brighter grins.

"Like the sun breaking out from behind a cloud," said Fred with a sigh, one hand to his chest.

"Makes you want to break out into song, don't it?" said George, giving Harry a look.

Harry was feeling very sunny now and yet somehow distant from himself. It took some effort to consider the question carefully.

"Dunno," he finally said, bemused, "doesn't make me want to sing—not much does—but well, it sort of makes me—yes, it _does_ make me want to snog her silly."

All three Weasleys stared at him, as if he'd said something strange. Harry shrugged, and seeing their faces, giggled. Then clapped a hand over his mouth. Had he really just giggled?

"Ah," Ginny said in a suddenly amused voice, wiping away her drying tears, "that'll be the potion talking. Feeling better, then?" The twins burst out laughing.

"He's high as a kite!"

Harry pulled the hand from his face, considered and nodded. "At least. It's been a long time since I've felt this good." He frowned. "Have I _ever_ felt this good?" He sniffed and smiled. "No, don't think so. I've never felt this good." He laughed and looked at Ginny. "Oh, except that one time we kissed. _That_ felt this good, too."

Over the twins indignant expressions of "Oy!" came a derisive voice, "Must we trip down this particularly boggy memory lane? Surely there _must _be something better to speak of, Potter."

"Draco," Fred said politely, "would you like a Ton-Tongue Toffee shoved down your throat? No? Then shut it before I hex start hexing your various orifices shut. Now, Harry, when in the bloody hell did you snog our sister like _that_?"

"He didn't," Ginny protested.

"Do you people not _read_ the Daily Prophet, or is just a congenital deficiency that makes you forget everything you've read?" Draco said scornfully.

Fred looked at George. "Would you like to pull his pants down, or should I?"

George looked thoughtful. "Dunno. Maybe I will. It's been a while since I've tried an Arse-Clamping Curse."

There was a strangled sound from across the room.

"That's right," Harry said. "The Daily Prophet did a whole article on that Love Potion thingee, didn't they? And the kiss. I overheard your parents talking about it"

Fred and George exchanged glances. "When?" they asked as one.

"Before I went to rescue Charlie, when everyone was standing outside the Infirmary."

"Half a mo'. Ron said that article was a load of dung," George said. "He said it wasn't like a kiss like that at all—just a peck. And he was there."

"Come off it," Harry said scornfully, "d'you really think I'd get the opportunity to kiss Ginny and waste it on a peck like that?"

Fred's thunderstruck expression melted and he stepped forward, a sly grin on his face. "Said just like a true Weasley, mate. I think I need to shake your hand." He took Harry's good hand with gusto.

George daubed at imaginary tears. "Seems like just yesterday he was a wee first year, and now here he is, scamming on our little sister."

"Not that we intend to let you, Harry," Fred went on, dropping Harry's hand. "She is the only one we've got. Now. Tell us more about this kiss so that we may take appropriate disciplinary measures."

"How's Harry feeling, then?" Mrs. Weasley's voice calling from across the room made Ginny spring into action.

"A bit better," Ginny said as she sat by Harry and shushed him.

"Not for long," Fred said in a low voice, his eyes narrowed. As always with the twins, it was difficult to tell whether Fred was serious or not. Fortunately, Harry couldn't be bothered. He smiled at Mrs. Weasley's concern.

"I feel wonderful," Harry said. "I was just telling them that I don't think I've felt this good in a very long time. In fact, the last time I felt this way was—"

"Oh—don't tell that story again, Harry, it's positively boring," Ginny said quickly as her mother stood beside her.

"I didn't think so," George said ominously.

"Ditto," Fred agreed.

Harry tilted his head to look at Ginny triumphantly. "See? Not boring."

"My, you are feeling better, aren't you?" Mrs. Weasley smiled, but suspicion was dawning in her eyes. She turned to narrow her gaze at Ginny. "How much of that potion did you give him?"

"Enough to make the pain go away," Ginny said firmly, a little flush on her cheeks.

"I understand dear, but really, that's probably a bit too much," Mrs. Weasley said with a soft glare at her daughter. "Though I do feel terrible he has to wait for Madame Pomfrey. Just keep a closer eye on him, since he's feeling a bit footloose and fancy-free. Now, I have to go back to Charlie. Just wanted you to know that he's coming along nicely. Should be fine in a matter of hours—thanks to you, dear—and Madame Pomfrey will be over here as soon as she can. Call if you need anything at all." She patted Harry's shoulder in a way that made him feel quite warm inside and then turned to pat the twins absently before walking back over to the other side of the room.

"Bye Mrs. Weasley," Harry called to her. "Drop in any time." He turned back to the twins. "She's such a great mum."

"Right. So let's get back to this kiss," Fred said in a blithe tone.

"Shut it, you gits," Ginny growled. "Harry was under a Love Potion, well, actually _two_ of them at the time and it's not like he was exactly—"

"Oh no, no," Harry protested, "it wasn't just the Love Potion—"

Ginny clapped a hand over his mouth. "_Don't_ say another word, Harry. You're completely doped."

There was derisive laughter from across the room. "How much of that potion _did_ you give him, Weasley?" Draco asked.

"Shut it, Draco!" Ginny, Fred and George barked out.

"Stop covering up Harry's mouth, Ginny," George said gamely as he turned back around. "I wanna' know what he was going to say. Something even more incriminating, I'd wager. I like high!Harry; he's loads of fun. Maybe we should ask him about the Dursleys now; get some straight answers out of him for once."

"George!" Ginny said immediately, sounding a lot like her mum.

Harry, feeling a dip in his mood, said somberly. "I don't want to talk about the Dursleys."

"Why not?" Fred asked, getting settled into the chair nearby. "As long as you're feeling chatty."

"Oh, come on, you two," Ginny said shortly, "leave him alone." But she wasn't as adamant this time. Harry got the idea that she rather wanted to hear what he had to say.

"Why don't you want to talk about them, Harry?" George prodded.

"Because it hurts," Harry said in a low voice, thinking belatedly that he probably shouldn't have answered that question and that painkiller potions seemed to make him a bit stupid. But then it hit him that thinking of the Dursleys didn't hurt as much as usual. He shrugged and went on. "I know you don't understand, George, because it's not like your family. You hurt each other on accident some times; and it's all right. Even with Percy, I don't think he means to hurt you; it's just that he sees things differently.

"The Dursleys aren't like that. They go out of their way to hurt me whenever they can and it's always been that way. They could never stand to see me being happy or doing well in school." Harry's voice grew quieter as the memory of those days ghosted over him like a fog, driving away the thought of his listeners completely. Putting it into words was like scratching an itch; one he'd never realized was there. "They always had to ruin it somehow, whatever minor happiness I managed to scrape out, so that Dudley would be happy or look better in comparison or something stupid like that. I remember one time when I was little, a man came up to us in at a restaurant and want to give me candy for being so good. Dudley didn't get anything because he'd been wailing like a banshee. Aunt Petunia couldn't stand it. As soon as the man left, she took the chocolate bar and gave it to Dudley. That was the last time I remember us eating out together. After that, they'd just leave me at home." He paused, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I dunno. They could have been much worse, but I don't think Mum and Dad would have wanted me to grow up there. I wish I hadn't had to."

The room was quiet, and slowly, Harry realized he was in the Hospital Wing, saying things out loud he'd hardly ever dared think. Fred was looking at the floor. Ginny had sidled up to George and was leaning against him, his arm around her shoulders. They were all so quiet.

"How did they treat you physically?" Fred asked slowly.

"Physically?" Harry asked with a blank face. "Er . . . like . . . well—okay, I guess. They didn't ever spank me; they prided themselves on being above that. But if I got out of line, caused a row because I'd got no Christmas presents when Dudley had got fifteen, say, well, then Uncle Vernon would take a swing at me sometimes. Sometimes it would connect, but I was too fast for him most of the time." Harry grinned, visualizing his many escapes so easily. "You should have seen him, all red in the face, thundering after me, yelling about what he'd do to me if he could catch me, but all the time, I'm running, dodging, sliding . . .

"If he kept at it, I'd hide under my bed and duck into the corner, where he couldn't reach me. More often than that, he'd just give up and let Dudders take it out on me later. Dudley could beat me up whenever he wanted, you know, and I think they allowed it just because they hated me so much."

"And they kept you in a cupboard, right?" Ginny asked in a soft voice.

"Yeah, that was my bedroom. They'd lock it if I got in trouble." No one asked anything, and Harry was free to cast his mind back to it. "It wasn't so bad. It was dark under there, and it always smelled a bit musty. But I like it, you know? I felt safe there, like a rabbit burrowing into the ground. Dudley wouldn't come in, and Uncle Vernon couldn't fit. They always thought they were punishing me by locking me in, but it wasn't really so. I had a few books Uncle Vernon had thrown at me in a rage, and all these chess men from one of Dudley's old sets—he hates chess—and I would play soldiers for hours. And there was that box of crayons I got hold of once and I colored the boxes at the other end of the cupboard. Didn't get any meals for two days over that."

"They did that a lot, didn't they? Wankers." George said in a tense voice.

"Oh yeah," Harry nodded. "That was pretty much constant. If I did magic on accident; then they'd lock me in with no food. Once it lasted three days, because I did it at school in front of other kids, just Apparated myself onto the roof when they were coming to get me once. That was the worst. That and after my first year at Hogwarts, when they locked me in my room and only fed me a bowl of soup now and then. I'll never forget how glad I was to see that old Ford Anglia outside my bedroom window, Weasleys aboard," Harry said wonderingly. "It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen."

"God, you're _pathetic_, Potter. What, are you practicing for the next edition of the Quibbler?" Harry watched ambivalently as three wands went for Draco, who sat, sneering across the room. _"'Poor Little Orphan Boy Spills Heart Out to Adoring Fans.' _What rot."

"It's not rot, it's the truth," Harry said evenly, feeling good that Draco just wasn't getting to him today.

"Perhaps Mr. Silver Spoon needs to be gagged with it," Fred retorted, his wand aimed directly at Draco's face. "Keep it up, ferret, and we'll let Ginny have free reign."

Ginny lowered her wand and walked closer to Draco's bed, where the pale boy crossed his arms and shifted uncomfortably. Harry was wondering why on earth they were so concerned with the ferret; he wasn't. Ginny looked tense, but her voice was smooth as silk. Harry found himself thinking that probably that wasn't a good sign. "What makes you think Harry's not telling the truth?"

Draco sat up straighter, venom twisting his face into a potent sneer. "Because—because he's the effing Boy-Who-Lived, and I refuse to—to—" Draco never did get out the remainder of his refusal, but continued on anyway, "My parents were Death Eaters and they treated me better than that. The only person I've known with an upbringing _that_ bad was Professor Snape."

Ginny glanced back at Harry, who was nodding solemnly. "Snape's was as rotten as mine was, or worse, and that's the truth." The Weasleys were all exchanging glances. George shrugged, obviously thinking Snape deserved it.

Ginny shook her head and looked back at Draco. "Are you actually that stupid or are you pretending? Or maybe, great bleeding coward that you are, you were so scared that night you don't even remember what happened when the Death Eaters Apparated outside Harry's house with you in tow? Did you think Harry threw _himself_ out?" Draco started to retort, but she interrupted with a shout and a wave of her wand, _"Silencio!"_ The twins both started, moving as if to stop her, but she shouted at them, "Don't you DARE! Dammit! For _once_, he's going to _shut up and listen!"_ Fred gestured graciously for her to continue.

Ginny turned to Draco, who had frozen against his headboard. "You and your pathetic inferiority complex—you have to take every opportunity to knock Harry down, don't you? And why's that? Do you even know? It's because he's so much better than you'll ever be: stronger, faster, smarter, kinder, more loyal—better at everything that matters, even Quidditch—and no matter how hard you try, no matter how much money you throw around and pay to the right people, it won't matter. You'll never be anything but a vicious, power-hungry, selfish, unkind, weak-minded jackass.

"Every time you lash out at Harry, another crack appears in that thin veneer of sneering superiority, another crack that reveals what's inside—bitterness and the truth that you see it just as easily as everyone else does!"

Ginny's face had flushed pink and she leaned in to Draco's bed. "You hate Harry because you see yourself in him, or rather, what you could have been and aren't. You hate him because there's a reason people care about Harry, and it's not because of his family or his blood or because he's the Boy-Who-Lived. You hate him because he's everything you _wish_ you were. And instead of asking yourself why, you lie to yourself to make it seem like he doesn't deserve it, when just the opposite is true. You're the one who has had everything handed to him; you're the one who's always received special treatment and you deserve it far, far less.

"Now that you have no name to back you up, maybe you're beginning to see it. Maybe that's why you're laying in here day after day. Or then again, maybe it's just because you're a coward." There was complete silence. Ginny's face had gone pale again, and she held her chin up proudly as she waved her wand. "_Finite Incantatem." _

Draco stared at her, white as a sheet with cheeks stained so red it looked as if someone had slapped him. Everyone waited a moment, but apparently, he was speechless.

'Well, you know what they say," Fred said with a wise air, as he turned back toward Harry's bed. "'Tis better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and prove it.'"

"Sage advice, brother mine," George added.

"Ginny," Harry said in awe. "That was amazing. Could you say all of that that again? I can't remember half of it, but it really made me want to snog you."

Ginny groaned and covered her pink face with both hands.

"As a kite," George summed up.

"So. One more question. What happened to your hand?" Fred asked casually as he walked back over to Harry's bed. "Everyone's been going on and on about it."

Harry frowned. "My hand?" He picked it up and looked at it blankly. There was a red mark there the size of a Galleon. "Hm. Doesn't hurt. Don't remember."

"Not _that_ hand, you idiot," Fred corrected, "the other one."

Harry froze, then moved his left hand from its perch on his stomach. He knew, even before he brought it up to eye level, that he should have left it where it was. A shudder ran through him at the sight, and suddenly the ghost of pain reappeared. "Ouch," he said. The burn was bad. His hand had been turned to the side when he ran into the flames, and accordingly, the charred skin was on the left side of his fingers and palm, and was, in some places, burned to the bone. The flat of his hand was missing layers of skin, burned away to reveal the red, glistening of raw muscles and—

Harry put his hand back down and swallowed, remembering. "Wall of flame. Didn't put my shield up quick enough."

"Who did it?" George asked eagerly. "Lestrange?"

Harry stared at him. "Yeah—Rodolphus. How'd you know?"

"We picked up bits and pieces from the other Gryffindors before coming up here. They're in a right state, you know." Fred and George exchanged glances.

"What were you doing in the dorm?" Ginny asked.

"Well, we're re-matriculating, you might say," Fred offered with a grin. "Checked back into the dorm today."

"WHAT?" Harry and Ginny said together, then Ginny launched herself at Fred, who scooped her up in a big hug.

"Yeah," George said eagerly, stowing his wand and coming to sit by Harry. "We've decided things are getting too hot around Hogwarts to not be here anymore. Now that they've taken Charlie out, well, it's a matter of family pride."

Harry couldn't keep from grinning. "So that's where you've been—getting ready to come back?"

"Got it in one," George said over Ginny's head.

Fred took over. "We had to make arrangements with the store, sell out some shares and get a caretaker. You know the drill. Now, we're financially independent, disentangled for the time being, and paying our own way to this illustrious institution."

"Has nothing to do with the fact that Dumbledore asked us to come keep an eye on things," George countered.

"Nor with the fact that his request comes with pay," Fred added.

"And scholarships. Nope. We're here strictly on principle, to keep an eye on skids like Draco."

"I don't think you have to worry about Draco," Harry said slowly, "just now, it's Goyle who bears watching. I still can't believe that he tried to kill me. And Pansy. All the Slytherins hate me. What did I ever do to them?"

Ginny slid away from George and came over to sit on Harry's bed. "_Now_ you're whinging, Harry. Shut it." She looked over at her brothers. "And don't worry; with all these Weasleys around, you're safe here. Just concentrate on getting well. Right?"

"Right," Fred and George said in unison.

"The only thing you need to worry about is if we catch you snogging our sister in the future. Then, there'll be hell to pay," Fred said matter-of-factly. George nodded.

Harry looked over at Ginny, worried. "But I like—"

Ginny gave a squealing grunt and put a hand over his mouth.

"Mmph," Harry said indignantly.

"Why do you keep cutting him off like that? I like him this way," Fred insisted.

"Why do you keep lying to him?" Draco spoke up suddenly, his expression dark and ugly. "'Don't worry about the students trying to kill you, Harry, since you're such a special, kind and caring bloke. Just stay the same reckless idiot as you are now and everything will be fine.'"

Fred and George exchanged dark glances and strode over to Draco's bed. "So what are you doing in here, anyway, you son-of-a-Death-Eater?" George said in a low voice.

"Recovering," Draco said shortly.

Harry turned his attention back onto Ginny, as she sighed and took her hand away from his mouth. "He didn't listen to a word I said, did he?"

Harry stared up at her. He didn't care about Draco and there were still things he wanted to tell Ginny, and with the buoyancy in his heart and the numbness everywhere else, he still felt like talking. "It _was_ a good kiss," Harry remarked, taking her hand with his good one and tugging at it before she could move away. "Do you remember?"

She looked away and her half-smile slowly faded. Harry sensed that he'd made her sad and tugged at her hand. When she didn't look down, he whispered up at her, "But there was an even better one, wasn't there?"

Ginny jerked her head to him, and he smiled slowly.

"Just you listen to me," Fred said in a louder voice, calling Ginny's attention away. "He's in that bed because he risked his very valuable life—"

Harry made a face and tugged on Ginny's hand again until she faced him. "Don't you remember?" She looked down at him again, slightly curious but a bit blank. Finally, feeling mischievous, Harry raised his eyebrows and whispered, _"Meow."_

Ginny's eyes flew open wide and she jerked back. Her gaze skittered around the room, then came back to Harry. "No," she said in a breathless voice, "you weren't—you couldn't be—that's not possible."

"What part of _'he's a hero'_ don't you understand?" George said loudly, and Harry pulled Ginny closer so she looked at him again and ignored the very loud conversation going on over by the other wall.

"But I _did_ and I _was."_ He watched the emotions on her face battle a moment before settling on what looked like an interesting mix of horror and pleasure. "It wasn't just a dream." Harry watched, fascinated, as the surprise in her eyes gave way to a wave of what looked like chocolate-brown desire. Her mouth fell open slightly and she sighed. Harry really wanted to kiss her, brothers or no. He felt he was flying, exhilarated. "And all I wanna' know is . . . do you really feel that soft?" Harry asked quietly, sliding gentle fingers up her arm to the crook of her elbow. She didn't move a mite. Her arm was pale and beautiful, warm and lightly freckled, smooth as cream and soft as silk. Harry felt his body start to heat up deliciously.

Ginny took in a deep, shaky breath and Harry looked up. The moment their eyes met again, an electric shock went through Harry's body. Her eyes were melting with emotion and she clutched at the hand on her arm. He was taken aback until she said, "Oh, Harry," in a trembling voice. "Harry."

And with a sudden shock, he knew what that emotion in her eyes was. _Love_. The world seemed to fade around them. Harry's blood boiled and his heart thumped and he knew that Ginny was the only thing he'd ever really wanted this badly. An ache filled his chest and he wondered if his eyes looked as soft and vulnerable as hers.

"Oy, Ginny!" Bill barked out from somewhere. "Fred, George!"

"Yeah?" said two voices at once.

Ginny broke away from Harry. "Yes! I'm here."

"Charlie's awake! Poppy's a miracle worker! Come and see!"

Ginny clapped her hands together. "Thank Merlin!"

"Be nice, ferret," barked out Fred, then let out a whoop as he charged across the room.

"We'll be ten steps away in case you need another reminder. Coming, Billy-Boy!" George followed his twin with a grin.

"I'll be right there!" Ginny flung herself back at Harry, careful of his arm, and pecked him on the lips, pausing only to look him in the eyes and say, "Brothers across the room and all," before dashing away.

Harry put his good hand to his lips and smiled, feeling so full to the brim of good things that he was dizzy. He half-expected one of those deranged cupids from Madame Puddifoot's to be flitting around over his head, tossing confetti and flinging silver arrows.

Lying back on his pillows, he sighed and listened to the tearful-but-happy sounds coming from across the room. A gray, fuzzy sort of feeling came over him and he fell into a doze.

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_A/N: Thanks so much to everyone for your reviews. You know now that I listen to you, right? See, it is actually an H/G story after all. : )_

_I just wanted to note for future readers, really, that this is the last chapter we will post before the publication of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Then we will officially be going AU. _

_We are halfway through and I do have the outline and the story already set up, so if there are any similarities between HBP and my story, they will be unintentional and wow, pure, dumb luck. I promise not to plagiarize!_

_Thanks for your support!_


	16. Prologue to chapter 16

Prologue to Chapter Sixteen

The tea was hot and bitter, and it really wasn't doing its job. Remus Lupin grimaced as a yawn split his face despite his attempts to keep it at bay. He'd been at this for far too long, though his replacement wasn't due for another hour: only four Order members to cover this operation that was so fundamental to the future of the Wizarding World. Remus put the cup back in its saucer, watching the slight tremor in his hand that made the china clink faintly. It couldn't be helped. Remus was tired—dog-tired. A thin smile creased his mouth, straining to accommodate the sudden memory of Sirius.

"I and my kind take great offense to the use of such an inspired term for such a mongrel, half-breed like you," the Marauder had said with his nose in the air, tossing that famous black hair off his shoulders aristocratically.

Remus let the image fade slowly, in no hurry to return to the real world—one where Padfoot could talk and move no more, Harry was hunted constantly by a megalomaniac and Hogwarts was being slowly ripped apart at the seams. Remus rubbed at his eyes wearily. He had to do what he could to help. A lot of Wizards were counting on him.

Before being called to the school by Dumbledore, Remus' desire to help and a sudden windfall of money had led him to begin a commune for werewolves, one of the few organizations to reach out to werewolf brethren. Sirius had left him money, not that he would have gotten it under normal circumstances. As it was several hundred thousand pounds, Wizarding Law had stepped in to complicate things. But Dumbledore had quietly gone to the Minister of Finance and somehow managed to work things in Remus' favor, then asked that he mention it to no one. Grateful, Remus complied.

He bought a small farm and went on a quest to find werewolves in need of help, preferably young ones that would also be impressionable. It was easier to find them than he had expected, pitifully easy—young wizards and witches homeless, penniless and starving because of their infirmity. He convinced five of them to come with him, live at his farm and work, using the tightly-locked down shed for transformation time with an endless supply of Wolfsbane Potion. Five young werewolves, learning to work a farm, enjoying life for the first time in years, only one of them with family that would still claim him. The companionship they had developed eventually felt to Remus more like home than anything he'd felt since the Marauder days.

Being at Hogwarts now meant that those five young people were back at the farm on their own. Remus hoped they were carrying on as he had taught them: working hard to have food to eat, pooling their limited finances and discussing their options intelligently. Until Remus had found them, each had been leaning toward joining Voldemort's ranks at one time or another. The drive of the werewolf to kill and destroy was strong, and the message of Voldemort to these downtrodden and persecuted beings was no more complicated than, "Take your revenge on the world that turned its back on you." Remus worried about them a great deal, almost as much as he worried about Harry. _Harry_. Remus sighed and the usual frown line creased itself between his graying blonde eyebrows.

It seemed as if, through a slow, ponderous shifting of the universe over the last five years, one boy, one very lonely and tormented boy, had become the focus of all things, good or bad. Every plot led to Harry's downfall and every defense was raised in his honor. How could one person handle this much importance? Might not the simple pressure of such an existence drive anyone to extremes? And yet Harry survived, continued to survive and do ever-more increasingly amazing things.

Of course, he was back in the Infirmary again. This term, Harry had yet to go to a single class because of all the attempts on his life. Remus closed his eyes and sighed. If Severus' information was correct, there might be several more. At first, Remus hadn't wanted to take the threat seriously; even Dumbledore had been reckoning against the Slytherins actually following through on their plots. But so far, two had nearly succeeded. Pansy had given Harry a Love Potion and nearly dragged him, quite willingly, off to Voldemort. Goyle had managed to get Charlie kidnapped, which led to Harry following in a suicidal rescue mission.

If Sirius were alive, Remus thought with sudden vehemence, he would have flayed Harry within an inch of his life for that little stunt. And so would James. But then again, Remus thought with that same wan smile, had they been here, one of them would most likely have gone with him. Had it been Padfoot guarding the Infirmary that day, he would never have let himself get knocked out by a hex from Harry, invisible or no. And so Harry would have pled his case; Sirius would have listened, grinned and said, "What are we waiting for?"

Shaking his head slightly, Remus picked up the tea cup and took a last bitter swallow of the liquid, disdaining to study the dregs in the bottom of his tea cup on principle. With care, he set the cup back in its saucer, the clinking of Hogwarts' fine china like music to his unaccustomed ears. He picked up the Marauders' Map for the tenth time this hour and searched through the school, keeping his eyes open for any name in an unusual spot. He was also keeping an eye open for Narcissa Malfoy, who surely hadn't given up on her plans yet. Somewhere beneath them, she was biding her time, ready to come back when Harry was most vulnerable. Or maybe Draco. She seemed equally likely damage to one as the other. _Strange_ _turn of events._

They had finally come up with a good strategy to make the Marauder's Map more helpful. With Bill's help, Remus had discovered a charm for the map that would render invisible any student enrolled at Hogwarts. The only problem was, it had to be done for each individual student and required a complex spell. So far, they had managed to get an eighth of the student body entered—taking care not to apply it to Slytherins or any student reported to be acting mysteriously. As many students had been. Remus smiled. Harry's speech at the beginning of term had really galvanized the younger students into almost constant tattle-telling and it took someone with the wisdom of Solomon to figure out which tips were real and which were only the vibrant spinnings of an overexcited, impressionable mind.

The dots on the map had blurred before his eyes and Remus sharpened his gaze. _"Preadly, Gartopholus"_ and _"Barton, Belinda"_ were strolling together outside on the grounds, hopefully heading for some innocuous place and not for a secret _"Annhiliate Potter"_ meeting. Not that any of those had been successfully reported. It was just bits and pieces that kept coming in: Millicent Bulstrode harassing Ginny, Blaise Zabini threatening that first-year Gryffindor that Harry had befriended—what was his name? Timothy? Or—

Then Remus jerked and leaned farther over the map, his breathing arrested.

"_Malfoy, Narcissa."_

There she was.

In the hallway.

Heading for the Great Hall. Or past it . . . to the Infirmary.

_Bloody—_

Remus jumped to his feet, grabbed his wand from the table and knocked it into the small, innocuous-looking lump of white wax on the desk.

"Tonks!" Remus's voice strained to be quiet at yet commanding.

"WHAT?" shrieked Tonks, and a muffled thumping and various crashes could be heard over her voice.

"It's Remus, Tonks. Narcissa Malfoy is—"

"Remus, is that you?"

"Yes! Narcissa—"

"Damn suit of armor. I swear those things move—"

"Tonks—_quiet!"_

"What is it?" She suddenly sounded business-like.

"Narcissa Malfoy is on her way. You should be able to see her soon—unless she's got that—"

"Wait! Where did you say? I don't see anything! Just a bunch of 'Claws heading out the Great Hall."

Remus watched with horror as _"Malfoy, Narcissa"_ turned the corner and headed into the foyer where _"Tonks, Nymphdora"_ was stationed. "She's right there, Tonks! She'll be in snake form or under an Invisibility Cloak. Five steps behind '_Patil, Padma!'" _

"Okay. I'll get her. I'm dodging Padma. Sorry, luv! I—_ahh!"_

Screams came over after Tonks' voice faded.

"Dammit! _Bloody—"_ Remus tapped the blue patch of wax on the desk. "Mad-eye!"

"Lupin," the man barked back immediately.

Remus jerked up the map.

"Tonks is down. Narcissa Malfoy is on her way up the Southern stairwell. Watch out—she'll be under her—"

"Invisibility Cloak if she managed to take out Tonks."

"Right," Remus agreed, sweat starting to bead on his upper lip as he scanned the map feverishly. If she got past Mad-Eye there was no one to head her off until she reached the Infirmary where _"Weasley, Fred"_ was standing guard. She was moving incredibly fast . . .

Remus stabbed the orange patch of wax and barked out, "Fred, get ready. Narcissa is on her way."

"What? Now!"

"She's down on the southern stairwell, facing off with Mad-Eye right now."

"Oh, well—good. So, Mad-Eye will take care of her. He can see through Invisibility Cloaks you know."

"Yes, I know that, but you must be on your guard—"

"Lupin, she's got one o' the kids 'round the neck. I can't get an angle on her. Smug little—_Protego!_ Ugh!" Crashing noises and thuds were all Remus could hear.

"Mad-Eye! What's happened?"

After a moment, the man's voice came back on, much more quietly this time. "She cast a Bludgeoning Curse, hit my shield, and knocked me down two flights of steps. Warn Weasley. And Potter."

Two minutes later, after frantic communications with Fred and the Headmaster, Remus sprang for the door, moving so fast that the Marauder's Map slipped off the desk and to the floor with a gentle scrape. As if the heat of Remus' horrified gaze had made the lone dots in the Infirmary stand out even more against the faded parchment, the words _"Potter, Harry"_ and _"Malfoy, Narcissa"_ radiated side-by-side, with all the intensity of a solar flare.

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A/N: Thanks to you guys for being so patient while I got this chapter written and betaed. While HBP was being published and read by millions, I decided to take a hiatus. This wasa short prologue to set up the very, very long chapter that follows. Hang with me. That chapter should be up tomorrow. My lovely beta, Musings, is putting the final touches on it for me today. Chapter 16: Fall-out is the longest I've written yet. Lots of catching up to do. Hopefully soon, we'll actually see Harry in a gasp class! Won't that be a change of pace? he he he


	17. FallOut

Chapter Sixteen: Fall-Out

_Seventeen Hours Earlier . . . _

At some point later, Harry was awakened by clattering around his bed. He forced his eyes open to see a very fuzzy Madame Pomfrey standing at the head of his bed with her back to him, the skirt of her robe brushing against his arm. She must be getting a potion ready.Harry's gaze left her, drawn into the shadows and patterned light along the stone ceiling. Although he could tell that it was just getting to be first light outside, without his glasses, the shapes collapsed into a puddle of light and dark somewhere in the middle.

"Oh, you are awake, then?" Madame Pomfrey said as she turned around. Harry nodded, but his unfocused stare remained on the ceiling. For some reason, his eyes seemed stuck on the muddled shadows and his brain was perfectly happy with the arrangement. Perhaps it was because he was still glowing after that little kiss Ginny had given him. _"Brothers across the room and all."_

Interrupting his pleasant thoughts, Madame Pomfrey insisted on administering two potions, one that tasted like sour cream and one that tasted strangely like dust, or rather, the metallic tang left in your mouth after you sneezed out dust. _Ylllech_.

Harry settled back into bed, noting that the pain medication must still be in effect; he felt numb more than anything and slightly off-kilter, as if his mind was searching for something to amuse or interest it, regardless of the _what_ or _who_. Someone was talking in low voices over by Charlie's bed, but the intermingled chuckling told Harry that everything was all right over there. He tried to focus long enough to figure out who it was, but he couldn't hear them well enough and the mumble just wasn't interesting. His mind kept drifting, so he let it.

Of course, it drifted to Ginny and the fact that she was, surprisingly enough, turning out to be his first girlfriend. Cho didn't count. Pansy _really_ didn't count. Harry gave a shudder. No, Ginny was going to be his first girlfriend. _Girlfriend_. There was just something warming and happyish about the word, about knowing that someone liked him—really, really liked him. That was precious to him. After all, one of the many hard things about being Harry Potter was that so many people didn't like him for stupid reasons, or wanted him dead for even more stupid reasons.

"Harry, you're awake!" He looked up to see Hermione approaching, one hand over her mouth as she yawned. "Oh, sorry, but it's been a _long_ night." She stopped by the bed and reached out a hand to him. "And a long ten days before that." The breath she huffed out sounded clogged with tears as she leaned down to half-hug him. "It's so good to know it's really you. Charlie never _could_ get it right. He was always laughing too much and showing off for the girls. Oh—you need your glasses. Here." She grabbed them and held them up for him to take them. "I've gotten so used to looking at you without them on. How's your hand?"

Harry put his glasses on and frowned at her. He held up his right hand and stared at it. "Fine. Why?"

"Oh, honestly. Madame Pomfrey really needs to talk to Ginny about that pain medication." Harry just smiled, feeling rather indiscriminately goofy, but not caring a bit. "It's your other hand."

Harry frowned and then looked down at his other hand, the one that he hadn't moved at all since waking. _Oh_. That was why he didn't want to move it. "Er. Yeah, it's fine. I think."

"Oh, I forgot. Ron!" She called over in a loud whisper toward Charlie's bed. "_Ron!_ Oh, has he fallen asleep again? I'm too tired to go back over to get him." And she did look tired. There were dark circles under her eyes and a pinched look in her expression, as if it hurt just to sit there on the side of his bed. "It's been so terrible without you, Harry. The way you collapsed after the Love Potion was horrible; it looked like you were in such pain. And then you were unconscious." Hermione gave a shudder. "We had to get Professor McGonagall and she couldn't wake you, either. So they put you in here, and tried to keep it quiet. But word did get out, and then someone let it slip about Ginny giving you the potion. And oh—those nasty, vicious Slytherins!" She clenched her fists. "They loved it that you couldn't wake up. They treated Pansy like a goddess. Then when word got out about Ginny's potion. Oh—they were horrid to her, as if she'd done it on purpose!

"And they weren't the only ones. Padma and Pavarti started in on her soon after, accusing her of being a gold-digger and everything else."

Harry was aware that he should be angry at this point, but all he seemed to be able to feel was an overwhelming sense of guilt. This was all his fault."I'm sorry. I was just . . . god—I couldn't—"

"Oh, I know. I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to bring it all back up and throw on you like that, but it was just horrible. And then Dumbledore—"

"Hermione! Is Harry awake?" The long, lanky figure of Ron appeared in the gray twilight of the room.

"Yes. I tried to call you," Hermione called back to Ron.

"Hey, mate," Ron called, yawning as he jogged closer. "How you feeling?" Harry shrugged, too despondent to answer. He'd let everyone down with that stupid Occlumency trick_. Poor Ginny_. She must have felt terrible, and all she'd been trying to do was help . . .

Hermione growled so furiously that Harry jumped. "He _was_ fine. I've made him feel bad." She stood up and leaned in. "Harry, forget everything I said. I'm glad you're back and I want to hear what happened when you're ready to tell it. Right now, I need _sleep_. I've been on duty all night and I can't even think straight. Good night, Harry. Sleep well." She was gone so fast that Harry was left with his mouth still open to say good night.

"Hang on," Ron said to Harry and walked after Hermione, grabbing her arm before she could get very far. "What's up?" he said in a low voice and Harry blinked. He stared at them, eyes wide open. He could suddenly see it—the way they leaned in to each other, the way Hermione looked up at him and how Ron curved his body over her slightly as she whispered to him. Something had happened while Harry had been out, something . . . well, it looked like something good. When they parted this time, Ron bent over to give Hermione a small kiss on the cheek. Hermione looked almost boneless as she turned to walk away, her hand parting from Ron's reluctantly.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked as he sat down, looking a bit pink.

Harry smiled. "I was going to say the same thing." He raised his eyebrows.

"Er, yeah. So," Ron said, getting Harry's meaning easily, "a lot's happened since you were gone."

"I'd say so."

"Anyway. Why was Hermione upset?"

But Harry wasn't going to be distracted that easy. "Dunno. Did you kiss her?"

"Er—well, yeah, I mean, just because she was going on and on and you weren't waking up, and well, you know," he trailed off, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I know."

"So," Ron said more loudly, "_why_ was Hermione upset?"

Harry was still grinning. "I guess 'cause you hadn't kissed her in a while."

"Shut it, you," Ron groused. "I'm never going to get a straight answer out of you when you're like this."

"Probably not." Harry yawned and settled himself back on the pillows more comfortably. "Sorry."

"About what?"

Harry paused, not remembering for a moment. "Oh. Sounds like I made everyone miserable by being out for ten days. I didn't mean to."

"'Course you didn't." Ron said promptly. "Wait a minute—is that what Hermione made you feel bad about? Mate, you couldn't help it. And come on, you just saved my brother's life! You made Mum so happy Fred and George are worried there's a Permanent Cheering Charm on her—she's that happy."

"Oh." Harry immediately felt better. "Good."

"I mean, sure, while you were out, the school hit some hard times, but it's not like it was your fault."

"Yeah."

"You were out cold. And you would've woken up if you could have, right?" Ron suddenly sounded a tad insecure.

"Right!" Harry said heartily. "I was trying to. Honest."

"I knew you were. That's what I told everyone. 'Look out,' I said, 'when he wakes up, he's going to kick the bloody hell out of those Slytherins.' That's what I said."

"I am? You did?"

"Well, yeah. 'Course you are. They want you dead for one thing and they've tried twice now. For another, they ran Ginny into the ground for giving you that potion, and well—actually, there were quite a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs that helped them. We might have to take out a few of them, too. Zacharias Smith was such a—" and here, Ron let out such a string of curses that Harry knew he'd been spending time with Bill. "I knocked him flat on his arse once. And Ernie McMillan, too. And then there was Malfoy—_bloody hell_—Draco was sitting back, watching it all like it was bloody Quidditch match—the smug, bloody sot. But I didn't have to take him out. His own mates beat the hell out of him."

"Is he still here?"

"Yeah. He's across the room, passed out on something too good for him. He insisted that Bat-Bogey Hex of Ginny's re-injured him. He just don't want to go back to the Slytherin dorm now that they've turned on him."

"The Seven Deadly Slytherins," Harry said softly.

"What's that?"

"Draco said there were seven Slytherins altogether out to kill me," Harry answered, wishing the Veritaserum-effect of the painkillers would wear off. He didn't want to think about this stuff anymore. "Where's Ginny?"

"Asleep." Ron grimaced, yawned and stretched his arms up over his head. "It's about five in the morning now. You should get some more rest. Don't worry about the bloody Slytherins. You've got at least seven Weasleys watching out for you, five of them in here right now and two of us are always awake. Good to have you back, mate, I mean it." He tapped Harry lightly on the arm and slouched to his feet. "Sleep good."

Harry didn't want to sleep. He wanted to talk to Ginny, but there wasn't really a choice. He lay back and looked at the ceiling, letting the gray around the edges of his mind take over until everything around him faded. This time, Harry fell into a deeply-drugged sleep.

"Harry? Harry." Professor Dumbledore's voice was breaking through the clouded recesses of Harry's mind, bringing with it the light of consciousness—a light which was far too bright after the dark nothingness. Harry groaned. "Yes, yes. That is a good sign. Very normal to feel like your head has been removed and replaced by a fifty-pound weight. I remember that feeling well." Harry was squinting now, trying to see the familiar figure in the halo of bright morning light surrounding him. "Have you come back to us completely now? We need to talk, Harry, about a great many things," the wizened old wizard said in a sad, resigned voice.

Harry's mind circled around the words for a moment, then suddenly sharpened. "Like what?" he repeated in a gruff voice that cracked half-way through. "What do you mean?"

"First off, how do you feel?"

Harry took a quick inventory as he grabbed his glasses off the table from where someone had stashed them while he was asleep. "Fine. What do we need to talk about?" He pushed himself up to a sitting position, noticing that his bad hand felt a good bit better.

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes shifted to the other side of the room, where Harry presumed the Weasleys were still encamped. The Headmaster's voice was lower when he spoke. "A lot has happened since you fell unconscious after the second Love Potion was administered."

"Yeah, I've heard a lot of it, from Mal—Draco, Hermione and Ron. How did things get so out-of-control, sir?"

"A very good question. I can only conclude that the other professors and I underestimated the profound effect your well-being has on the school. By the time we realized there was a problem with having the Boy-Who-Lived in a coma, we were neck-deep in accusations and altercations. House Points were being lost so quickly that the first years were confused—they began to think the hourglasses were merely keeping the time." His eyes twinkled. "To stave off the inevitable, we brought Charlie out as a decoy, to buoy the spirits of those who needed your presence to feel safe. As it turned out, that left him extremely vulnerable. Once he had been taken, I'm afraid things went from bad to worse—much, much worse."

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"You took it upon yourself to rescue Charlie—"

"Yeah, and I—" interrupted Harry.

"—were completely within your rights to do so," came the surprising final words. Harry's mouth snapped shut. "I do think I would have done the same thing if I were in your shoes. However, your actions have had unfortunate results." Harry's stomach gave a lurch at the somber tone of the Headmaster's voice. "The timing was most . . . unfortunate. Severus was Summoned directly after leaving you in the Infirmary, whereupon he left the castle immediately, as we had decided that he must.

"You see, Voldemort was frustrated with the trap being spoilt and wanted to know if there was any further hope that you might awaken and spring to Charlie's rescue. Though he knew you to be awake, Severus was able to convince Voldemort that there was no chance. Thus, when you arrived, it was to a skeleton crew of wizards, and no Voldemort." Harry closed his eyes in disbelief. He owed Snape _again_.

But Professor Dumbledore wasn't through yet. "After you escaped with Charlie, and with the gratitude of all of the Order of the Phoenix, of course, there was the unfortunate side effect that you proved Severus a liar. He now has to choose between two equally distasteful paths: returning to Voldemort and trying to prove that his misinformation was due to my manipulation, or staying put at Hogwarts, which will keep him far safer, but prove his disloyalty further, rendering him unsuitable as a spy. It is a difficult, difficult choice."

Harry was horrified. He cast his gaze around the room, thoughts coming in short bursts. "I didn't know—I mean—Draco told me that Snape was—but I didn't think—"

"Put your mind at ease, Harry. You are not to be blamed for this predicament."

A pause while Harry remembered the thrown chamber pot and a very irate Draco. At least one person blamed him. And, of course, there was . . . "I don't suppose Snape feels that I am not to be blamed, sir?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry. And, well, perhaps his feelings on the matter are best left out of the discussion. He is understandably disgruntled and I also am none too delighted over having lost out on our most direct source of information. However," he went on quickly, "I consider it a mixed blessing, to have him here with us, out of harm's way."

Mixed blessing? A vengeful, helpless Snape stuck in Hogwarts? Harry sighed. "I don't imagine he'll have much incentive to go easier on me in Potions class."

"I don't imagine so," the Headmaster said cheerily, "it is amazing how quickly you get under his skin, Harry. So like your father in that respect."

And for the first time in a long time, the thought that Harry resembled his father in some way brought him a small glow of satisfaction. His father would have liked that, for sure.

"Now, the other item we need to discuss is the attempt on your life by Gregory Goyle. Aurors are on their way to the castle later this morning, to question the boy about his involvement. Right now, he remains under lock and key, guarded by his Head of House and two prefects at all times. There is concern for his life because of the fate of Miss Parkinson. I trust you have been informed of her untimely demise?"

Harry nodded, discomfited by the reminder. "So you think Goyle may be killed as well?"

"Indeed. His incarceration is only half for your benefit. We shall be keeping a close eye on him at all times."

Harry sat up straighter. "Draco said that it was his mother who killed Pansy. Is that right?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "It is what we suspect. However, our attempts to locate her within the castle have so far failed. Neither the Marauder's Map nor the school-wide sweeps have produced any evidence of her."

A sudden thought occurred to Harry. "I suppose there's one chamber you haven't searched yet."

The Headmaster smiled. "I know of only one person at Hogwarts that could get into that chamber, and he has been most decidedly unavailable."

"But she could get in there, couldn't she? If her Animagus form is a snake, and he told her the right words."

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "That thought has been pressing upon my mind with even greater import over the last few hours." He stood and walked to the end of the bed, gazing over at the Weasleys. "As soon as you are up and about, I'm afraid we will need your services," he looked back at Harry. "We must get back into the Chamber of Secrets, Harry. Would you be willing?"

"I'll look forward to it." The Headmaster smiled and began to excuse himself, but Harry stopped him. "I had one more question, sir, about Professor Snape."

"Go on, please."

"When I came out of my . . . coma or cocoon or whatever it was, I saw a memory of Snape's, of a conversation he had with you." He paused, uncertain. "Is it true that the Dark Lord rifles through his memories to see me?"

The Headmaster sighed wearily. "Yes. It has been a difficult and treacherous time for Severus these past years. You see, he has been reporting to Tom, trying to prove his loyalty to the Dark Side. One of the initial things that convinced him was the memories Severus surrendered of his treatment of you."

"You mean to say that he did all that on purpose. But Tom wasn't even alive when I first came here. How could—it's not possible that Snape could have known that far in advance—"

"_Professor_ Snape. And not only possible, but true, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said in a light voice. "Severus knew of Tom's fight to be immortal and he knew that an Avada Kedarva curse was unlikely to do away with him completely. You see, Severus was forced to help brew the potions that Tom took in order to keep himself safe from death. He was always careful in class to treat the children in a way that was in keeping with his Death Eater status, so that no traitorous reports would reach unwelcome ears." Then the Headmaster smiled. "It did help that Severus was . . . naturally hard to work with. It also helped that he despised your father. That was not feigned in the least."

Harry nodded. "But the Occlumency lessons. Obviously, Snape couldn't let him—"

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted patiently.

"Sorry. Professor Snape wouldn't let Tom see _those_ memories, right? I mean, no one knew about those."

The old wizard sighed. "Tom knew, Harry. As soon as it was revealed that you were taking Remedial Potions, Tom demanded access to the memories. Severus is an accomplished Legilimens, but it is nearly impossible to deny Tom a memory when he is at close range. The best one can do is direct or distract him a trifle here and there. He was forced to give up those memories, as he knew that he would. And then his teaching style was seen as the harsh, hateful experience it was, which provided Tom with the gloating he wanted while misdirecting him as to your true talent in that area."

"So then . . . if Professor Snape was ever to have a conversation with me that was completely off the record, he would stop being such a git?"

With reproachful eyes that slowly turned into twinkling half-moons, Dumbledore said, "Harry, in the same way that I was afraid of our conversations getting back to Tom last year, Severus has been forced to treat you as if any part of your interaction might get back to Voldemort, either from your connection or from the mind searches. Give him the benefit of the doubt whenever possible."

With that, Dumbledore congratulated him again on his accomplishment, warned him that school would begin again for the other students on the morrow and that he might attend if he were feeling up to it. Harry said goodbye with a troubled mind. Dumbledore seemed to think that Snape's hatred was an act designed to prove his loyalty to Tom. But there was at least one conversation they'd had which never would have gotten back to Tom: from this past summer, the one in Dumbledore's presence, where the greasy git had spouted off venomously about Harry being "the One." That was very likely Snape at his own, lovable best, without a Dark Lord eavesdropping.

Harry snorted. _If Snape's hatred is all an act, I'll let Cho Chang catch the snitch at the first Gryffindor/Ravenclaw match of the year. And cheer her on, as well._

Time slipped by quickly that morning, as Harry nodded off for naps as the potions dictated and stayed awake for bits of conversation with various Weasleys. They all continued to be grateful, which made Harry feel quite flustered; it wasn't like he could get up and walk away. Fred and George reminded him as often as they passed of something he'd spouted off about during his pain-killer filled hours.

"He looks good." Fred would pause to ask his brother as they walked by.

"Quite," George would agree.

"I don't think he's looked this good in well—maybe never."

"I think the very same, brother dear. Except wait—""

"With bated breath, brother."

"Yes. There was that one time after he snogged Ginny. Didn't he look slightly more smashing after that?"

"Ra-ther. Or maybe it wasn't _better_, maybe it was _wetter_."

Harry wanted to crawl under the bed, but settled for just pulling up the covers and turning scarlet. Had he really said that snogging Ginny was the best he'd felt in his whole life? Harry sighed. _Never again._ He was never drinking _anything_ Ginny handed him again. Either she was overdosing him with Love Potions or overdosing him with painkillers.

After lunch, Cho Chang showed up, to the surprise of nearly everybody in the Infirmary. Harry was stunned she'd gotten by his guard, but found out later that it had been Tonks' idea of a joke to let her in. And as the pretty Chinese girl went on stiffly about the state of the school at present and how glad they all were to hear of Harry's return to health, Harry wished he could find some humor in the situation. Cho looked about as comfortable talking to him as he felt sitting with her while in his jammies, in the presence of his very new girlfriend, who was helping clean up after lunch.

"Now that I'm here, I had hoped to ask you to do me a favor," Cho went on quietly, "or even if not for me, for the Head Girl."

Harry, who had tuned in more sharply at these words, smiled a little. "But you are the Head Girl."

"If you want to get technical about it, yes," and a half-smile curved her mouth, too. "But this favor is something that a Head Girl would ask the resident hero, not necessarily something that Cho Chang would ask someone that she'd kissed . . . not too long ago."

Harry lost his smile and he felt his insides grow cold. "Do you often speak of yourself in the third person?"

"Harry—"

He gestured impatiently. "What's the favor? You want an autograph or something?"

She looked affronted. "No. _Of course not._ Wait." She seemed to collect herself. "Before we get off on any more wrong feet, I have to say something." She took a deep breath. "You were right about Marietta. She was so insufferable all summer long, never owning up that she'd done anything wrong. It was like she'd forgotten it all. I never should have sided with her against you, especially with all the trouble you'd already gotten into with Umbridge. Sorry." She looked much more like her old self suddenly, with a flash of that delicate prettiness that Harry had always admired, and he couldn't help but relent.

"Thanks. So, what was the favor, then?" This time, he asked much more nicely.

"We just thought, the Head Boy and I, that you might want to come and make a few statements to the school body tomorrow. If you've fully recovered, of course."

Harry blinked. "You want me to make a speech? _Another_ one!"

"Not a speech, Harry, not really. Just to set all those stupid rumors to rest for once and for all. No one can figure out how Charlie got hurt, when you were the one who disappeared." Harry started to speak, but she held up a hand. "You don't have to explain it to me, but could you just set the record straight? Everyone is at each other's throats, and Ginny has had it the worst of it all. Wouldn't you like to tell everyone that she's not to blame for your coma? _If_ she isn't, I mean."

"Of course she isn't," Harry said hotly. "And yes, I'd love a chance to tell off everyone who's been harassing her! It isn't like—"

"Good," she interrupted him with something like a gleam of triumph in her eyes. "Then I'll expect you tomorrow morning at 7:45 in the Great Hall for breakfast. You can address the school at 7:50 and set everyone straight. Thanks, Harry." She stood, leaned over to kiss his cheek and was walking away before Harry could respond.

He was still sitting, shell-shocked, when Dean and Seamus walked up. "Harry! What was Cho Chang doin' here?"

Dean was staring at him with wide eyes. "You two back at it again, mate?"

"No, of course not," Harry said hastily.

Ginny walked up just in time to hear all of this and stopped at Harry's bedside, a tray of potions in her hands. She was gazing at them quite coolly when she said. "Harry's not going at it with anyone but me now." She turned to him with a smile. "Here are your potions." She set them on the table beside him and kissed him on the cheek. "Take every last one of them or you'll be hearing from Madame Pomfrey."

Harry nodded. "Right. Got it. Every single one." He had a vague memory of not wanting to take potions from her hand again, but couldn't remember while she was looking at him like that. Something in his stomach heated up like a stovetop burner as she smiled.

Ginny touched a hand to his hair and then walked away, slipping beside a grinning Seamus to leave. "So the Great One has finally chosen. Now maybe some of these ladies will be taking a look elsewhere now. As I've said before, Dean and I are quite willing to pick up your slack."

"Yeah, right," Dean mumbled from where he had sat down in the bedside chair, looking disgruntled.

Going on at a fairly good pace, Seamus alternately stunned and embarrassed Harry by giving detailed accounts of his fan club's behavior during his coma, disappearance and recovery. First and foremost, they had panicked. Then they had met, organized themselves and decided to investigate. They had spent hours clogging up the library, helping Hermione research Harry's condition. Once he awoke, they had rejoiced and threw him a party, which Charlie-as-Harry hadn't been able to get out of. Harry was horrified to discover that his doppelganger had signed autographs. When Charlie-as-Harry had disappeared so dramatically, the Gryffindors had tried to keep it a secret, which meant that the Slytherins heard about it in a matter of hours and were parading around like Voldemort had won the war already. Not all of them, Seamus reported grimly, but a good many of them.

During those hours, the fan club had been just this side of violent and lost many House Points in challenging Slytherins to duels. When they weren't fighting, they had been harassing the faculty and many of the Gryffindors with constant questions and miscellaneous theories—mostly regarding the Slytherins. After he had been reported recovered, but injured, they had camped outside the Infirmary and pestered the guards outside for just one peek.

"If Fred and George hadn't vouched for us, that Auror wouldn't have let us in, either. She's a right rum one, that girl. Wouldn't mind getting arrested by her, eh?" Seamus grinned. "But now that you're on the mend and all, how'd you like for us to leak the information that you're no longer the most eligible bachelor at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded vigorously. "Are they still out there, then? The fan club, I mean?"

"Yeah," answered Dean. "Bit of ridiculous, actually. You could shoot an arrow in any direction out there and come up with ten girls on the shaft—easy. Someone should tell them what your breath smells like in the morning."

"Nah," Seamus admonished him. "It'll backfire, mate. Remember what happened when I mentioned how sweaty Harry was after Quidditch practice?" He hunched over and continued in a high-pitched squeal. _"A sweaty Harry Potter? Oooooo! I'll shower with him! Can I take his shirt off and rub his yummy tummy? OOOO! A naked Harry Pot—"_

"OY! Seamus, I'm trying to eat over here!" Charlie called over. "Get your hormones under control."

Dean was shaking his head. "Shut it, Seamus or you'll get the fan club started up again."

"Are they still out there?" Ginny's outraged voice carried easily across the room. "All right, that's it. I'm sending them away."

George went out the door with her, throwing a wink in Harry's direction.

"Some girl you've got there," Seamus grinned as he walked over to tap Harry on the foot. "Glad you're better. Drink those potions and we'll see you tomorrow back in the dorm. Be nice to have you back, mate."

"Yeah," Dean said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Neville and Ron have been driving us spare. Everything's been weird." Harry just noticed that he was squinting slightly.

"Something happen to your eye?"

Dean turned to fully face him and Harry could see the fading bruise on one eye much better. "Yeah, Goyle happened. Couldn't let him get away with that, you know? Portkeys to hell and all. Quite a row we had over that."

"You shoulda seen him, Harry. I knew Dean had some wild moves from those karate classes he took years ago, but I've never seen him like that. Took out that sook Goyle with three punches and only had a black eye to show for it."

Harry felt, once again, humbled by all the fuss over his disappearance. "Didn't want it healed, Dean?"

"Nah. Badge of courage and all that," he grinned, good humor showing through at last.

Harry wanted to say thanks, but they started moving away and saying goodbyes before Harry could find the words. So Dean had fought Goyle after Charlie-as-Harry had disappeared. It sounded like the Slytherins had earned their reputation as the evil house—setting traps for Harry, rejoicing when they worked, taunting the others who supported Harry. _"The Seven Deadly Slytherins,"_ Harry whispered, and that brought his mind to Draco. From there, his thoughts jumped to Tobias, the other person who had warned him about the Slytherins' plans.

"Dean! Seamus?" The two boys were passing through the doors and didn't hear him.

"Harry, what is it?" Ron appeared at the partition beside him, hair scruffed out in all directions.

"Did I wake you? Sorry."

"'S'all right. Not tired anymore, really. Just being a slug. Wha's wrong?"

"Tobias—I was wondering, how is he?"

"Tobias?"

"Tobias Wafting—first year. He's the one who said that that the Slytherins were after me, a while back. Remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. I remember now. Who had he been talking to?"

"The Twitchtie girl—which one I don't remember. Not the Ravenclaw one."

"Tobias is fine, I'm pretty sure. Seems like he did say something about Zabini talking to him, but nothing came of it."

"I shouldn't have asked him to spy on the Slytherins. They're deadly in earnest about this and if he gets too much information about it, who knows what they'll do."

Ron met Harry's gaze evenly, but said nothing. Finally, the redhead looked down and shook his head. "Hell in a hand basket," he muttered. At that moment, the doors to the Infirmary banged open and Ginny came stalking in, her mouth set in a grim line. George fell in the room behind her, laughing.

"Well, that takes care of the fan club," George explained loudly.

Ginny looked smug as she walked over to Harry, and he could see the way her eyes had fired up into molten brown. Ron stepped back away from the bed, watching her warily. She fired him a look and he jumped back.

"Yeah, right. Later, mate," Ron said as he walked back over to Charlie's bed.

Looking down at Harry, Ginny took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Now. Take those potions, Harry Potter, or you'll have me to deal with."

"I will?" A teasing tone crept into Harry's voice and a smile bubbled up from somewhere inside. "And what if I don't want to take them?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him, but a faint smile played around her lips. "I have ways of making you drink, Potter. Don't even try me."

"I don't know. Every time I drink something you've given me, I end up out cold or blathering my innermost secrets to nearly perfect strangers."

"Fred and George would be appalled to hear you call them that. And are you trying to say that you don't trust me?"

Harry had to swallow, keeping only the barest memory of a smile on his face. "Something like that. I mean, hey—why should I trust you?"

Ginny leaned down, a smile echoed in her bright eyes. "Oh, I don't know. Just because." And even as Harry berated himself for carrying on such a heinously stupid conversation, he realized that both of them were saying much more with their eyes and their body language than words could ever convey. Before he knew it, Ginny was sitting on the bed, leaning across him with her soft, soft lips on his.

His arms went around her, pulling her against him and sending radiating waves of melting softness and answered need back to his very core. She smelled like . . . _clean_ and like _Ginny_, only so much more alive and tantalizing than before. The kiss lasted long, blissful minutes, as they communicated tender thoughts and dreams and wishes through shifting bodies and light caresses.

And damn—it was good.

Long after the kissing session ended and Ginny left to check on Charlie, Harry still felt buoyant and wonderfully alive. In fact, he felt well enough to begin his campaign to be let go tonight. Madame Pomfrey was not very accommodating, but as Harry's hand was mostly healed and as he'd spent so much time in the Infirmary lately, and as the fan club had been waiting outside for hours every day, harrassing everyone, _and_ as nearly the whole Weasley clan was there to vouch and plead for him, she finally relented. But as punishment for his past escapes from the Hospital Wing before he was well, she would only let him go if he wore a bandage around his still-healing left hand and kept it in a sling for two days. And only _after_ he rested for another hour.

"But if feels fine," Harry protested, alarmed at the thought of how the bandage would beg attention.

"You are lying, you impertinent scamp," she retorted coldly, "and I know it. If you will not stay in that bed and recover fully, and well do I know the futility of trying to force you to stay, then you will do me the courtesy of at least keeping the injury clean. Miss Weasley knows the Cleaning Charm and will perform it every morning and every night for a week, until your hand is completely well. Before you leave, come and get a vial of Pain Potion. But only before bedtime, as it may make you a bit tipsy."

The twins, who had been over visiting Harry when he started in on Madame Pomfrey, and had found the entire conversation hilarious, held on to each other, laughing. Harry glared at them.

"Truer words were never spoken," Fred said as he wiped his eyes. "Don't worry, Poppy, if he gets high, we'll be sure to keep him company and keep those juvenile delinquents from that fan club of his take advantage." Madame Pomfrey turned such a fierce gaze at him that Fred wiped his face of all expression before adopting a sweet, innocent smile.

"Besides," added George helpfully, "we've thought of a whole new spate of questions to ask."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Just what had he told them during his spaced-out hours? He had a niggling feeling that it was something he wouldn't like.

"Fred and George Weasley—!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed as she bustled across the room, lecturing as she walked. "Harry has done nothing but help our family and here you are, terrorizing him! You will be _nice_ to Harry or I'll take you _back_ out of Hogwarts the instant I hear otherwise!" Harry stared at Mrs. Weasley, and she smiled, though her face was quite red. She had really taken a turn for the worse, as far as being fiercely overprotective of him. Her face contracted a moment and then she was wiping her eyes and smiled reassuringly at Harry. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Ron and Ginny will make sure of that."

Madame Pomfrey looked satisfied. It only took a moment to get the bandage on, covering the still-raw, but freshly grown skin on his left hand. It didn't restrict his movement at all—not that he wanted to move it all that much at present: every part of his hand was involved in the uncomfortable healing process, either itching, hurting or gone strangely numb. But he was on his way to recovery. He just hoped he could navigate his classes this way.

"Just make sure you don't leave without one of us," Fred said rather sternly after Madame Pomfrey had walked away. "I'm on duty now, but you can have George if you like."

"I'll be here by then," Ron said loudly. "I'm just going to get some food, you know, not to Siberia."

"Right, but take George or Mum will have our heads," Fred added as he turned to go. "Got to have a Weasleyguard, you know."

"Hey, what am I—flobberworm intestines?" Ron sniped back.

Fred held up his hands, "I don't care what you call yourself, but this is the first time he's walked the halls since all hell broke loose. Don't you think two guards would be good?"

Ron groused a bit more, but headed to the Great Hall with obvious excitement. "Be back in a bit, mate."

"Great. I'll just be sitting here, in bed. Waiting for an hour." Harry knew Madame Pomfrey meant well, but what difference was one hour going to do? He laid back against the pillows and resigned himself to boredom. There didn't even seem to be anything worth thinking about now; he'd done very little else lately. His mind seemed enveloped in a sort of gray fog, and in a very few short minutes it had made him sleepy again. _Damn potions._ Just as Harry was letting his eyes close, Madame Pomfrey scooted by his bed, moving faster than he'd seen her in days.

Harry frowned, but when she spoke, he understood. Charlie was getting ready to leave. "You are free to go, Mr. Weasley, and may I say it's been an honor having you here."

"Poppy, old gal, I feel fit as a fiddle, thanks to you. I just might have to give you a kiss."

"Oh, go on with you, it's just wonderful to see such a strapping young man well and up on his own two feet again. That's reward enough." Then she gave a squeak; Charlie must have kissed her.

Harry heard voices outside the door, and then Fred's voice called through, "'Bout time the lazy sot got off his arse!" Ginny's giggle followed.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were arriving right on time, admonishing Fred and still brushing Floo Powder off each other as they walked. Mrs. Weasley sounded almost giddy when she saw Charlie.

"Oh, Charlie, you look so much better, dear!"

"Madame Pomfrey," Mr. Weasley said in a thoroughly puffed-out-chest voice, "you are simply the best medi-witch in the history of Wizarding Health. I don't know why someone at St. Mungo's hasn't lured you away for a nice, better-paying job over there, but—"

"Because I wouldn't take it, and that's that," Madame Pomfrey huffed. "The very idea! Leaving Professor Dumbledore!"

Both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley started making placating noises, but Charlie broke in, "Now, Poppy, you know Dad only meant that as a compliment, so unruffle those feathers," Charlie said in his most charming voice. There was another harrumph from Madame Pomfrey, but nothing else, so Mrs. Weasley had a go.

"How can we ever repay your kindness? It simply isn't enough to say thank you. May we invite you over for dinner? Perhaps on a weekend when things are slow?"

"Well, now, that does sound nice. But I insist that you invite that young man over there to come as well, since he is to be thanked even more than I am." The Weasleys agreed so loudly and enthusiastically that Harry felt himself grow warm. He rather hoped they wouldn't all head his way and make a fuss.

His eyes were just beginning to close again when Charlie suddenly appeared at his bedside, a huge grin on his face. "Harry! Mate, what's it going to take to get you out of this bed, eh? I never had you pegged for the kind to go lazing about."

Harry scowled. "It'll take an order from the Wizengamot, since Madame Pomfrey seems to be under the impression that any time I'm out of bed I'll be plotting ways to get injured again. Don't suppose you could put in a good word for me, eh?"

"And risk my good standing with her? Not even in your dreams, mate. You'll just have to be good and wait another half-hour."

Harry grumbled under his breath and then held up his bandaged hand. "Have you seen this? I'm to walk about with this on for two days!"

"Well, with all that's been going on around here, I'd say you're lucky they're not moving you in up here and posting five guards at the door," Charlie said soberly. "So cheer up. You should have learned this lesson from my folks: they only harass you 'cause they love you. Anyway, I owe you one. Anything you want, you call and you get—right?"

"Er—right." Harry licked his lips and rushed on. "But I really am sorry about the whole thing. I mean, you getting hurt trying to help me out again. I'm really sorry."

Charlie shook his head. "I'd say it wasn't your fault, but I don't think that's what you want to hear. I tell you what, mate, I forgive you. For any part of this—any tiny, insignificant part of this horrendous mess that's yours—I forgive you. Now, I also thank you, for saving my ignorantly greedy arse when I really was in deep . . . you-know-what." He glanced over at his mum and back at Harry. "Thanks, mate. I'll be back in a week or two and pick up where I left off, right?"

"Thanks, Charlie," and as he gripped his hand, Harry felt that there was no way any more words could come out of his mouth, gratitude had clogged it so thickly. The way Mr. Weasley was beaming and Mrs. Weasley was wiping away tears didn't help. He was thankful when they didn't say anything more. Mr. Weasley shook his hand and Mrs. Weasley kissed his cheek before leaving, but they didn't mention a dinner or go on and on or anything. He was surprised, but figured they must know by now how awkward he felt with that sort of thing.

When they were gone, Madame Pomfrey went back to her office, still mumbling about taking a job at St. Mungo's and interjecting "Honestly!" at various points. Harry's eyes were drawn to the ceiling again, in the curves and dips of the carved stone and their strangely-complex shadows. Ginny must have stayed outside so that he could get some rest, the way Madame Pomfrey had wanted. _Oh well._ His eyes drooped and finally closed.

His eyes jerked open some time later and it was a moment before he knew where he was—the Infirmary. There were screams and loud sounds coming from the hallway. Harry sat up, yanked the covers off and shot his wand from its sheath under his forearm—he'd at least put that on, even though he hadn't changed out of his pajamas yet. What was going on out there? There was a loud explosion and one more scream.

_Ginny._ Was that Ginny?

Harry vaulted for the door just as it opened and he slid to a stop. Nobody was there. The door closed with a light thud that, as hyper-aware as Harry was, made him jump. He raised his wand.

"Who's there?"

No answer, but a rustling of fabric.

_Invisibility Cloak. _

Harry took four steps back, wand pointed, moving around slightly as he didn't know exactly where the person was. "Answer me!" His breath sounded loud in the cold, silent air.

Then there was the soft swish of fabric and Ginny was standing there, her hair tangled, looking smug. "Did I scare you?"

Harry hesitated. "What's going on out there?"

"It's Narcissa, she was on her way, but the twins chased her off down the corridor. I came in to help you escape—got your Invisibility Cloak so we could get away."

Harry looked closer at the pool of fabric on the floor. It was his father's cloak—now he recognized the design weaved in its folds. Lowering his wand, he frowned, "What do you think I'm going to do, run for the dormitory? Give me the cloak and I'll go find Narcissa myself."

Ginny scowled right back. "No. You can't go anywhere without your bodyguards; you know that."

Harry scoffed. "You going to stop me or something?"

"You think I can't do it?" She shot back, raising her wand.

"A Bat-Bogey Hex won't do it, Gin. I'm warning you, step aside."

She cocked her head to the side and then stowed her wand in the waistband of her skirt. "I won't need my wand, anyway," she explained, then walked forward.

Harry huffed out a breath and then started past her. Until, that is, she grabbed his arm and swung him around. "You're not going anywhere." Then she pressed her lips to his.

Shocked, Harry couldn't kiss back. He was torn between trying to force himself to enjoy the kiss and wondering what in the hell she thought she was doing, kissing him now. Just as the _"enjoy yourself"_ part won him over, a sudden nausea rolled over his stomach. His body clenched over and his lips left hers. In the next second, his wand went to her throat and he felt the cold prick of her wand against his Adam's Apple.

"Hello, Harry," Narcissa-as-Ginny purred.

He pressed the wand into her neck harder until he saw her eyes widen.

"_Hello, Narcissa."_


	18. Something's Found

_Chapter Seventeen: Something's Found_

Harry could see the hatred pooling in Narcissa's eyes as he pressed his wand harder into her neck. They stood rigid, locked together, potential energy incarnate: at any second one of them would break the pose and deadly spells would start flying. Narcissa twisted Ginny's face into a sneer that infuriated him.

"Enjoy your kiss?" he asked, snarling. Her face was strained and pale; his wand was digging in tight.

"No, but then I knew what I was getting into when I started it. I have done it before, you know." She smiled wickedly. Harry couldn't think what she meant, but the idea sent nausea rolling through him like a high tide. Then her face transformed so quickly into a sweet, sorrowful look that he was taken aback. Her voice slid into a higher, sweeter tone. "I wanted to apologize again for not remembering what a rough summer you had."

At first he could only grasp at the words' meaning. Rough summer? The memories assaulted him—poisoned cake, handkerchief Portkey, torture, Lucius—she knew! She _knew_ what he had done—

_Wait._ He shook his head to clear it. The words she had just said, and the tone of voice . . . he recognized it. Who had said that to him? Someone unusual . . . just before kissing him. Susan. Susan Bones.

Harry stared at Narcissa. "That was you?" She began to back away and Harry only then realized he had let her go. He raised his wand. "Don't move!"

She cackled, her face once again transformed into evil Ginny. "I've been playing with you ever since you arrived, foolish boy. I've been people you don't even know about."

Harry froze. "Like who?" He barely got the words out as his mind brought up friend after friend who she could have impersonated, trying to kill him, trying to kill Draco or—

"Oh, the Boy-Who-Lived needs a little hint. Lucius always said you were too smart for your own—"

"_Diffindo!"_

"_Protego!" _She blocked his spell easily and the jet of light whipped back past his shoulder harmlessly.

Harry was shaking. He'd cast that spell at her without thinking. Nausea was eating him alive. She'd kissed him—twice. She'd been playing with him all term and that bastard husband of hers—

She stepped closer, wand still raised. "Remember the toast? I meant it for you, of course, but killing that insipid House Elf that was so fond of you was certainly no disappointment. Would have been better if it could have been a Weasley, but we must be grateful for what we're given."

Harry's nausea hardened into a cold, numbing hatred. His fist clenched his wand tight and his nostrils flared with each breath. She'd Polyjuiced herself as Neville. She'd brought him poisoned toast. She killed Dobby.

Harry dug down deep and forced a smile. "You just can't seem to keep your hands off me, Narcissa. You're stalking me in my room, digging through my things," he gestured to the Invisibility Cloak on the floor. "How long has that been missing?"

"First morning of term ring a bell? I'm sorry, were you sleeping too hard to see me—as Neville, of course—searching your trunk?"

Harry nodded. "Like I said—stalking me, digging through my things. Kissing me. Makes me wonder." The side of his mouth quirked. "Is Lucius not man enough for you?"

Her eyes shot wide open and he could see the intent in them even before the jet of purple light left her wand. Time seemed to slow. He had time to curse himself, to assess how far away his wand was from being ready, and to see how desperate the situation was. Then his magic kicked in and with a whorl of power, he was in motion.

Harry twisted and flung himself back. The purple flame grew brighter as it neared; the heat of it began to scorch his face—

And then he was looking the other way, feeling the sting of fire on the outer layer of his skin, and watching the flame continue past. Behind him, Narcissa let out a guttural howl. The jet of light hit something loud and breakable and Harry was still falling—falling backwards in a slow arc that he knew was trouble. What was behind him? _Infirmary bed.__Got to move_—

_Crash!_

Harry was on all fours beside the end of the bed, shaking his head to clear it.At the last second, he had managed to bring one arm around and under him so that his hand caught the floor first and vaulted the rest of his body over and into the bed frame. At least he landed on his feet. Narcissa was looking away—

"_What is going on in here?"_

Harry whipped his head over just in time to see a flash of red catch Madame Pomfrey in the chest and fling her back so hard that she disappeared back into her office.

Then he was up on his feet, wand aimed at Narcissa, curse on his lips.

"Narcissa, you have greatly disappointed me." Harry froze, his eyes flickering over Narcissa's shoulder to where Professor Dumbledore had just appeared. She whipped around, wand aimed.

Harry took aim as well.

"_Reducto!"_ she screamed and flung a hex at Dumbedore, who merely waved a hand to block the spell in mid-flight. The spell struck a leaded-glass bookcase with a crash.

"_Reducto!"_ Harry snarled and was stunned to see Dumbledore again raise his hand and block the spell into a shelf of vials. _Crash!_ "What are you _doing?"_Harry yelled.

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore cautioned with a word, then turned to Narcissa. "Why are you so bent on destruction, Narcissa? I would have thought this far more likely from your sister than you."

"_Concidus,"_ she shrieked in return, only to have that curse knocked aside easily into a wall. She screamed and jerked around to take aim at Harry once again. "_Concidus!"_

Before he realized it, Harry was on the ground, the spell going over his head and connecting with something breakable in Madame Pomfrey's office. _Crash!_

"Enough of this. _Accio wand,"_ Dumbledore said tiredly. Despite Narcissa's attempt at blocking the spell, her wand flew up and into the Headmaster's hand. She hissed at him through clenched teeth like a cornered cat. The Headmaster only raised his eyebrows. "Take care, dear girl. I am no longer your amiable teacher."

Narcissa's staccato laugh cut through his words like a blade through flesh. She began to back away toward the wall, looking back and forth between Harry and Dumbledore. A dangerous smile was playing on her face. "You don't know what I know," she said in a singsong voice. "And I'm not going to tell you." She smiled sweetly—a genuine Ginny-smile that unnerved Harry.

"_What?_ What do you know?"

The Headmaster gave Harry a cautioning glance. "Aurors will be here shortly and it might be in your best interest to cooperate."

"Aurors! Aurors?" She laughed wildly. "They're pathetic! I just beat some of their best with an Invisibility Cloak and a hostage. You think Azkaban will hold a Malfoy? You have been proved wrong on that count before!"

Dumbledore sighed. "They will find a way, Narcissa."

"Then I'll _never_ tell what I know." She hissed.

"Which is _what?"_ Harry said through clenched teeth, wishing Dumbledore would just go away and let him have it out with her. His stomach was in knots.

Narcissa looked at him. "That you will die soon, boy, a victim—"

At that word, something like an electric shock went through Harry and he jumped forward, wand raised. "NO! I'm NOT going to die! I'm not going to be a victim! Not of anything!" Breathing hard, he pressed forward and pointed his wand at her. "I'm going to find out who's trying to kill me and I'm going to get them _first_. Got it? And that includes you." For a moment, there was only the sound of Harry's harsh breathing in the room.

Narcissa looked at him through hooded eyes. "Are you threatening me, boy?"

"Hell. Yes." Harry gripped his wand so tightly that it shook.

"So very tough," Narcissa whispered low enough that it barely carried to Harry's ears, "but not after Lucius was through with you. Oh no, not then. You would do well to remember."

The room seemed to grow dim around Harry's eyes. His heart thudded and sweat beaded on his upper lip. He blinked several times. He swallowed and said something into the vacuum around him, something about Lucius getting what was coming to him. But far from feeling capable of revenge at the moment, he had all he could handle just to stand up straight.

Dumbledore was talking. Slowly Harry lowered his wand and he found himself staring at the floor. Narcissa was laughing. He knew he should stop her, but he could her Lucius's voice like he'd never left the manor and that horrid, mirrored room. _"Do you know what revenge feels like?"_

"Harry? Harry!" an uncertain voice was calling him. He looked up to see Ginny staring in the doorway, blood running down her cheek. She looked mussed and tense with pain as Remus Lupin stood beside her, breathlessly holding her up.

"Where's Madame Pomfrey?" Remus said. "Fred needs to be helped and I think Miss Weasley may have a concussion—"

Just as Remus stopped short, Ginny's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Harry looked where she was staring and saw Narcissa, looking every inch her twin, lounging against the wall, smirking. Ginny walked forward as if possessed, but Harry focused on the blood running down her cheek. She'd gotten hurt. Narcissa had hurt Ginny. Harry's blood ran hot and he started forward.

"Harry," Dumbledore said warningly, "Revenge is not sufficient excuse for violence. You must stop before someone else gets hurt."

Harry looked around at the old wizard, feeling as if someone had ripped his head off and attached it wrong. "Maybe I want someone else to get hurt. Maybe I want _her_ to get hurt! You know what she did to me—to Dobby—to Ginny and God-only-knows who else! _THIS HAS TO STOP!_ It has to end! I'm sick of this! _Sick of it!"_

"Taking out your anger on Narcissa will not help," Dumbledore said to him in gentle words under-girded with steel.

"Then what will? IGNORING WHAT SHE'S DONE? Pretending that it's all going to go away?" Harry had begun and now he couldn't stop. "I haven't been to a single, bloody class all term and I couldn't care less. None of that matters. How can I pretend that school is important and that the bloody House Cup matters when at any moment I could be FACING HIM AGAIN!" He scrubbed a hand across his face and dropped it again by his side. Suddenly his throat was clogged and it was difficult to speak. "Don't you see? This is it." He shrugged his shoulders once. "This time. One man left standing, or one . . . thing. And the entire Wizarding World at stake."

"Not just the Wizarding World, Harry," Dumbledore added soberly. "The Muggle World as well."

The weight of his destiny rested back on Harry's shoulders with the familiarity of a old coat. It calmed his anger, depressed his need for revenge. Narcissa wasn't the real opponent; she was just a crazed, mental lackey. Harry turned his back on Narcissa and walked away. He ended up at his bed and sat. His left hand was throbbing again. _Great_. What was Madame Pomfrey going to—oh.

Harry turned around and interrupted Remus' report, telling them that Madame Pomfrey might be seriously injured. Professor Dumbledore was on the move before Harry had finished speaking. Narcissa sat against the wall, the conjured ropes holding her tightly. She narrowed her eyes at Harry.

"Lucius is coming for you, boy and—"

"_Silencio!"_ Ginny snapped, stepping closer to the helpless witch on the floor and kneeling in front of her. "How dare you speak to him that way, and how dare you use that—that—and _my face, too!"_

Words seemed to fail Ginny and she reared back and punched Narcissa right in the nose. Harry's jaw dropped. Narcissa's head thunked back against the wall and she stared at Ginny in stunned, pained amazement. Harry felt a smile slide over his face. As blood began to drip from Narcissa's nose, Ginny smiled thinly.

"That looks better. Sounds better, too. If I were you, I'd stay away from me." Narcissa just stared at her. Ginny seemed satisfied with that, and turned a smug look on Harry, who was watching her with undisguised admiration. But as Ginny walked over to him, the smile slid off his face. She sat down beside him, bouncing the mattress. She didn't look at him for almost a solid minute; they just both watched the dust mites fly through the stream of sunset-colored light from the window. Harry didn't know what she was thinking. As for himself, there didn't seem to be anything that would catch in his mind. Everything was just still and quiet.

Ginny slid her hand over his, pulling away his wand and setting it aside. Then she took his hand in both of hers and held it gently. After a few moments, Harry's eyes filled. But Ginny didn't ask any questions, didn't ask why he was so overwrought or why the threat of Lucius seemed to work so well on him. No. She just sat there, leaning her head on his arm, holding his good hand and breathing deeply. They sat that way until Ron arrived at the door, breathless with Mad-Eye Moody hung over his shoulder.

"You all right, Harry?"

"Yeah. Fine."

"I'd have come sooner, but the rock said you were okay besides the pain in your hand, and Moody was in pretty rough shape. He wouldn't let me levitate him."

"Not a sack of potatoes, boy!" Mad-Eye grunted. "Put me on that bed, there."

Ron grunted and strained to carry Mad-Eye, finally leaning him toward the mattress until the Auror fell on the bed. "I said I'm not a sack of potatoes. Where's that damn Pamfrey woman?"

Harry pointed to the bed across the way. "Pomfrey. She's right there."

Mad-Eye just grunted. "Damn Malfoy woman. She get everybody?"

"Not me," Harry said quietly.

"Good!" the Auror barked, then lay back on the bed and settled his hands on his chest. "Whoever's in charge, I'm last. I'm fine. Just a broke rib or two. No problem."

Ron came over and stared at Ginny. "Bloody hell, what happened to you?"

Harry looked over at her, too. She did look pale, but not weak at all. In fact, her eyes flashed at her brother and she growled her answer. "That 'damn Malfoy woman', Ron. Catch up! I went out there to check on Fred and he was already under fire. She had Harry's Invisibility Cloak on, you know, or I would have got her."

Ron backed off. "Well, yeah, of course you would've. Me, too. I mean, if I'd been here and not eating. I'm sorry, Harry—I should've been here. Some bodyguard—"

Harry held up a hand. "Ron." He made his friend meet his gaze with a long pause. "It's okay. I'm fine."

"Well, no offense, but you don't look fine."

"I'm fine! I'm bloody well fine!"

Ron pulled out the rock. "Well, except for your hand—"

Harry grabbed the rock and chucked it down the Infirmary.

"Hey!" someone yelled. Harry looked up to see a team of Aurors entering the room. One had his wand out and Harry's rock was frozen in midair. He was a tall, dark-skinned man, clean-cut and attractive. His voice had an accent, but Harry wasn't sure what it was yet.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled.

The Auror let the rock fall to the floor. "No problem."

Harry felt Ginny and Ron staring at him, but he didn't feel much like talking. In fact, while the Aurors questioned Narcissa, Harry deflected attempts from both Dumbledore and Lupin to talk about why he'd reacted so strongly to Narcissa's words. Lupin finally took Ron aside, something that irritated Harry to no end. Ginny was the only one who seemed to understand that Harry needed to be left alone. He glanced over at her. She was seated on the bed across the room from him as a Mediwitch from St. Mungo's fussed over the cut on her face. Her brown eyes were pained, but she smiled as soon as she saw him looking at her. Harry smiled back, just barely.

Another Mediwitch was looking over Madame Pomfrey, who was quiet and still on the bed beside them. Harry frowned. Narcissa's spell should have just knocked her out, and he was surprised Madame Pomfrey wasn't up and about yet. Dumbledore was walking over to her now, having questioned Mad-Eye thoroughly. The Headmaster's face was stern and as tense as Harry had ever seen it. If he was that angry, why had he been so benevolent to Narcissa? Dumbledore noticed Harry watching him. With a careful look, he started over.

Harry turned back to Narcissa, who had yet to say a word to the Aurors.

"Narcissa, if you don't start cooperating, we'll have to use Veritaserum," said the tall Auror in charge, the dark-skinned man with what had to be a Mediterranean accent. He'd given his name as Fornier or maybe Forney—something like that—and seemed to know Narcissa somehow. Now, he smiled at her. "I know you don't want us to do that, Narcissa. There's no telling what might come out. I'll bet you know all kinds of little secrets."

Narcissa gave a funny little jerk, but said nothing.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, and Harry realized the Headmaster was beside him now. "How is your hand feeling?"

"Fine," Harry answered automatically, though his hand was aching to the bone. That back handspring he'd done to get away from Narcissa's spell had put all of his weight on the still-healing hand. "She's not going to tell them anything, is she?"

"I'm afraid you might be correct. We will have to hope that whatever secrets she has hidden will be easily discerned once we journey down into the Chamber of Secrets. Once everything has been dealt with here, we may need for you to accompany us, Harry."

"I know," Harry promised.

Dumbledore waved his hand and a pink, flowered armchair appeared. The Headmaster took a seat, then waved his arm and put up a Silencing Charm. Harry looked over at him in surprise. Dumbledore was studying him so intently that Harry looked away.

"You seem to have some issues left over from this summer, Harry. Perhaps in our haste to get you back in tip-top health, we neglected to make sure that you were healthy in other ways."

Harry's gaze skittered over to the Headmaster, then away again. "I'm fine. Maybe my hand hurts a little."

"Harry," the Headmaster's voice was full of compassion. "I have told you before that what you feel makes you the kind of person you are."

"What? I'm not upset about what she said. If anything, I'm upset because you wouldn't let me deal with her the way I—"

"_Grab her!"_ Shouts from the Aurors broke in their conversation.

"Somebody get the—"

"_Mediwitch! We need a mediwitch!"_

"She's convulsing—"

Harry couldn't see Narcissa for all the bodies in the way, but it didn't sound good. A Mediwitch was pushing the Aurors away.

"I think it was poisoning. She poisoned herself!"

"How? We were sitting right here!"

"Oh god—look at her mouth!"

Harry finally got a view around Fornier and stared. Now he knew how Mrs. Weasley felt when she faced that Boggart. He knew it wasn't Ginny there, limp, bound with pale, gray skin. Those weren't her front teeth, elongated and protruding from her mouth in the shape of two-inch bloody fangs. But still, the sight was electrifying. He couldn't quite catch his breath. _That's not Ginny. Not Ginny._

"Bloody . . ." Ron, over on the other side of the Aurors, was gaping. He exchanged a slightly panicked, stunned look with Harry.

"When the bloody hell did she grow those?" Fornier turned to his Aurors with an amazed look.

A short, ruddy man answered. "I-I don't know, sir. I was watching her the whole time and I didn't see anything unusual."

"Like two bloody pokers sticking out of her mouth?"

The man shook his head. "I guess it was too fast. I don't know."

"Did anybody else see anything?" When no one else answered, he went on. "I didn't even know it was possible to partially transform like that. Anyone else?"

The Headmaster waved and Vanished his chair away. "It is a rare gift but I have seen it before."

"It's a shame we could not learn more from her," Fornier finally said to his team, "but a fitting end nonetheless."

Professor Dumbledore gave Harry a long, sad look before striding forward to check the body of Narcissa himself. Harry wasn't sad. At least she wasn't sneaking around the castle trying to kill him anymore. Or kiss him. He shuddered. Just then, he realized Ginny was beside him again.

"Aren't you glad a snake's not my Animagus shape?" She asked quietly, her hand on his arm. "Ugh. The Mediwitch is ready to treat your hand." When he didn't move, or even look away from the body, she tugged at his hand. "Come on, Harry."

Harry went willingly, but the need to get alone and think things through was getting overwhelming. He saw Ron sitting on another bed, looking as shell-shocked as he felt. Over by the door, a quiet conversation was taking place between the Headmaster and Lupin. Professor Dumbledore looked pleased. Then the Mediwitch came over and blocked his view, fussing over Harry's hand, unwrapping it and declaring it a horrendous mess, giving him two potions and nearly ordering him back into bed. Thank goodness, the Headmaster had come over by that time, and he leaned on her to let Harry go.

"He's spent far too much time in here already this term. This is a small injury that he can deal with on his own, as long as Miss Weasley performs the Cleaning Spell every day as she was instructed."

"I will," Ginny said firmly. "I'll make sure he takes care of it. And Ron will make sure he takes his pain potions."

Ron jumped up and walked over. "I will. I got my Kidneystone back," he held it up. "I mean, not my Kidneystone—Harry's. I mean, well—not _his_ Kidneystone, but a dragon's Kidneystone that—oh, forgetaboutit." As he trailed off, Harry tried hard not to glare at him.

"Yes, I understand, Mr. Weasley. Use it well. Harry, Lupin has informed me that in her haste to leave the Chamber, Narcissa left the hidden door wide open. There will be no need for you to accompany us on our search."

Harry was mostly relieved to be let off, but he pursed his lips. Something was niggling at his mind.

"Is there a problem, Harry?"

"No, sir. But, you'd—you'd better look for rats."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Indeed. That is my first priority." Harry nodded. They were obviously thinking the same thing. The tunnel to the Chamber had collapsed at the end of Harry's second year. Only a very small person or a small Animagus could likely get through there. If a snake Animagus could get the Chamber open, then who better than a rat Animagus to accompany her?

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

Harry awoke with the gradual awareness that he was back in his own dorm, listening to the very familiar sound of Ron griping. What was it Ron was saying?

Harry frowned and grabbed for his glasses. _Ouch._ He tried again with his good hand. "Wake up," Ron said in-between yawns, "you gotta' take this." The curtains of Harry's bed were opened and bland morning light spilled in around his red-headed friend. It was still early. Harry blinked and made out the vial of something purple in his friend's hand.

"'s that for?"

"Pain, of course."

"But I'm not—I mean, I don't . . ."

Ron disappeared in a flurry of curtains and swear words, muttering all the way to his bed and back. Harry was just wondering what in the world he'd done to hack his friend off so much when a small stone thunked onto his chest. It was a most interesting mottle color—cream, glaring red and faded yellow. And it was very, very hot.

Ron pointed to it, scowling. "You wanna' explain that you're fine to that thing, then? It's driving me starkers."

Harry picked it up, suddenly registering that this was the stone spelled to his physical condition. "It's hot."

"Of course it is—that's why I'm up at this indecent hour! Would you just take the bloody pain potion, please?" Ron thrust the vial at him again.

Harry drank his potion, the throbbing of his hand suddenly to the forefront of his mind. His little duel with Narcissa had aggravated his injury quite a bit, but he still hated the thought of going to classes with the sling on. All those Slytherins would think he was off his game and be more likely to attack, wouldn't they? The rock in his good hand immediately started to cool and the color of oatmeal slowly vanquished the others.

"About time," Ron groused. "Bloody stone. Now I just have to get you to breakfast and maybe the bloody thing will leave me alone."

"Sorry," Harry shrugged as he handed it back.

"No, no," Ron backtracked, "you keep it for a while. I'm going to catch five more minutes." Ron disappeared from behind the curtains. "It's going to be a bad day—I can feel it."

Harry put the rock under his pillow. Wouldn't do for that thing to get into the wrong hands. Or well, it wouldn't hurt, either. Apparently, all it would do is nag someone until they tried to help him.

Harry got up and started his daily routine, glad to be up and about doing it, even if the sling made things awkward. It did help him remember not to use his hand, which was the whole point, anyway. By the time he was ready to go downstairs, the other boys were stirring. Ron was the last, of course, and Harry had to ruthlessly yank open his curtains and pull off his bedclothes to get him up. Then he waited while Ron stumbled around the room getting his clothes on, once losing his balance and taking Neville down in a tumble of pajama-clad legs and arms.

When they finally exited the room and took the stairs, they got their first taste of the hysteria that was to characterize the day.

"_It's Harry!"_

"_He's back!"_

Nearly a dozen Gryffindors were waiting down below, cheering and calling up to him. Other voices started calling from behind and by the time Harry reached the portrait hole, the room was nearly full of Gryffindors still tucking in shirts, combing their hair, or pulling on their jackets, all clamouring to see him. It was very flattering, but a bit overwhelming. By the Hermione had made it to his side and a fourth well-wisher had jostled his bad hand, Ron was enjoying it much more than Harry.

"I'm afraid it may be like this all day," Hermione said with a glint in her eyes that said she was enjoying this as well.

Harry sighed. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Well, for one thing, you ran off on a rescue mission without telling anyone," she said smugly.

"But I had to. Charlie's life was at stake."

"Yeah, Hermione, stop being so down on him. He's a hero!" Ron defended him roundly.

"Yeah," came the echoes of several others.

"Of course he is," she sniffed. "I just meant that he should have told someone he was going, and—and maybe waited to see what the plan was. I'm not saying he shouldn't have gone at all. Oh, forget it," she concluded when seeing the glares around her. She gave Harry a careful hug. "I'm just glad you're back and I won't say anything else about it. At least not until the next time you do something dangerous."

"Thanks, I think." Harry hugged her back.

When she pulled away, she was serious again, her brown eyes searching his. "But really, try to understand why everyone is so excited. You have no idea what most of them went through to defend you against the Slytherins and to defend Ginny when everyone said your coma was her fault. Maybe you should say something."

"Yeah," Ron echoed.

Harry nervously resettled his sling, looking for a way out but not finding it. Finally, he turned around to face the Common Room crowd. Almost immediately everyone quieted. Harry shook his head and smiled a little. Smiles broke out around him and several Gryffindors called out.

"We told them you'd be back, Harry!"

"I knew they didn't have you all along!"

"Down with the Death Eaters!"

"_Down with the Slyterins!"_

"Three cheers for Harry!" And as they hurrahed, Harry rubbed at his neck and straightened his tie and gestured for them to quiet.

"Thanks, guys. It means a lot to me that you, er—for you to—what I mean to say is that this is great, but it is just _me_. I mean, I don't—"

"How's your hand, Harry?" That was Collin Creevy.

Harry smiled at him. "Fine. The Mediwitch was just being careful, really. Now, what I'm trying to say is—could we maybe just—not do all this?" Faces around him faltered and Harry tried again. "It's great, really and I know how hard it's all been—but not . . . I mean—"

"I know _exactly_ what you mean."

Faces turned toward the top of the stairs. Harry smiled. There, with vibrant red hair falling around her shoulders in soft curls and a dimpled smile playing at her mouth, was Ginny. She descended the stairs in an expectant silence, all eyes on her. Harry was just enjoying the view, but he was aware of the whispers at the same time. Ginny walked right over to him, the Gryffindors parting easily for her.

When she reached him, both arms went around his neck and just as Harry was starting to protest, her lips met his. Stunned, he could do little but put his arms around her waist, hold her tight and give in. It was a soft, sweet kiss that went on a bit too long, or so Harry thought with the pressure of all those eyes around them. Ginny pulled back and smiled at him.

Then she turned to face her audience. "What he means to say is that he's now taken."

Their housemates erupted in applause and whoops of delight. Harry, flushing furiously, pulled away from Ginny, but she grabbed his hand and gave him a possessive smile that made his heart feel like it had just performed a blindingly brilliant Wronksi Feint.

Then Harry caught sight of the twins making their way over, and his smile faltered. He still hadn't decided whether they liked him with Ginny or not.

"Now, don't look so nervous, old boy," Fred said with a glint in his eyes.

"Buck up," George added. "It's not as if we didn't know what was going on before."

"No, of course not," Fred continued. "In fact, you might say that we even planned for this eventuality."

The twins looked at each other musingly. George added, "Hoped for it."

They turned to Harry. "After all, we do have a whole line of products developed just for situations like this."

Ginny held up her hand. "Don't even start with me."

"Gin-gin."

"Bitsy."

She glared at them.

"We're not starting anything with you."

"Of course not."

"We just have to make sure that if anyone is going to be brought into the family, they can stand a few pranks."

"Pranks?" Harry finally spoke up.

"Oh, nothing too bad," Fred said reassuringly. "Just the occasional product placement when necessary."

"Necessary?" Harry's voice cracked, which he hated himself for. He could face down Tom and a dozen Death Eaters, but not Ginny's twin brothers?

"Well, yeah," George said, putting his arm around Harry's neck. "Like, for example—now, when some bloke has just snogged our sister in full view of the common room."

"Bad form, that," Fred said, shaking his head. "Must be consequences."

"But—but _she_ kissed _me_," Harry protested. He turned to Ginny, but she was smiling. Smiling?

"Sorry, mate, but it must be done." George tugged Harry back with the arm around his throat and whispered two words down toward his injured arm. _"Freckle Juice." _Harry's sling erupted into a psychedelic cascade of color. Swirls of purple, red and blue chased each other down the fabric, highlighting the black letters, _Harry's_ _arm—do not remove._

Ginny pealed with laughter, and Ron snorted loudly. Harry groaned. He'd been hoping against hope that no one would notice the damn sling after a while and now—_this!_

"Oh honestly," Hermione said, half-exasperated, half-impressed.

Fred shook his head in mock regret. "I'm sorry we had to do this to you, Harry. I just hope you learned your lesson."

Harry glared at him.

"I don't think he has, brother," George said seriously.

"Oh. How terrible. Let's try this one, then: Sling-o-rama!"

"Oy!" Harry was yelling, jerking his sling away from the twins, hoping it wouldn't work, but then the sling froze and its colors melted into one sickly brown color that faded until it was a light tan color. Then two spots appeared and one long line. From upside-down it was hard to tell, but it looked kind of like a face. _Uh-oh._

The eyes blinked. The mouth opened and it spoke. Loudly.

"_Make way for the Boy-Who-Lived!"_ Harry buried his face in one hand. _"V.I.D.W.K. coming through!"_

"V.I.D.W.K.?" Ron repeated.

"Very Important Dark-Wizard-Killer, of course," Fred supplied.

"_Here comes the Pride of Gryffindor, the Dreamboat of Amateur Quidditch and the TriWizard Champion of—"_

"Turn it off!" Harry bellowed. "I can't walk around like this!"

Fred raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side, eyeing George.

"Not good," Ron said unnecessarily.

George nodded at Fred. Fred nodded back. "Sorry, Harry, but you didn't say the magic word. Version 6.0."

The face on the sling shuddered and blurred. A moustache grew over the mouth and heavy eyebrows. Fred and George looked absolutely gleeful. "Hello," it said in heavy Spanish accent. "I am de sling of de great Harry Potter. Did choo know dat he is not wearing any underwear to—mmph?"

Harry, who had slapped his hand over the sling's mouth, appealed to Ginny. "Either they make it stop or I don't wear it." Her eyes lit up immediately and she leveled a look at her brothers.

They caved.

"Oh, all right, Bitsy," George whined, "no need to get all huffy. Apple cart turnover." The sling lost its face and obliged by immediately breaking out in a rash of undulating green apples.

Harry sighed. "I suppose that's as good as its going to get."

"You need to lighten up, Harry." Fred said, ruffing up Harry's hair before heading for the portrait hole. "Besides, everyone'll be so busy talking about your sling, they won't bother about how heroic you are."

"See you at breakfast." George said with a wave.

Harry had to admit that maybe that was true. The Gryffindors had broken up, laughing and showed no signs of forthcoming hero worship. Maybe the twins were on to something.

"Come on, I'm starved!" Ron led the way out of the portrait hole, grabbing Harry's book bag as well as his own. Harry was about to protest when Ginny's hand stole into his free one. After that, such a feeling of well-being came over him that he couldn't even join in the worrying over what Narcissa had hinted at. Hermione was obsessive about it, trying to figure out what secret the evil witch had been hiding, but Harry agreed with Ginny's assumption at the moment—that the witch had only been taunting them and really had no secret at all.

"Well, maybe it's something like how she's going to kill the ferret in the end," Ron said in an upbeat tone, "that wouldn't be so bad."

Just then, they reached the wall where the House Points were on display. Harry was dismayed to see that the Gryffindor Hourglass not only had no rubies in it, but there were a few of the dark green Slytherin emeralds in it, as well as a few black diamonds of the Hufflepuff House. "What's going on?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Oh, all four of the houses lost so many points that there weren't any more to take away. So Dumbledore developed this new system of keeping score. If a Gryffindor lost points by hexing a Slytherin, then our house took on emerald points."

"Yeah," Ron said mournfully. "It won't go back to being rubies until we dig ourselves out of this hole we're in. Seems like your rescue of Charlie would have counted for something."

"It did," Hermione said. "That took us from negative 250 points to negative 20. We're much better off now than we were before, no thanks to you, Ron."

"What'd I do?" He demanded.

"You fought every Slytherin that came into your path!"

"Only because every Slytherin said that Harry was a goner!"

Harry shook his head and sighed, still horrified at how badly things had gone while he was unconscious. He was going to have to show the houses how to get along again, tell them that he was okay and there was no reason to take out their aggression on each other.

Ginny let go of his hand. "I think I'll walk in first, you know, give everyone a few days to get used to the way things are now." Harry looked at her, discomfited. "You don't need the extra attention, you know." He stared at her, fully aware that he was probably giving her a lost puppy-dog look but he couldn't help it. He felt so much better with her holding his hand. She looked at him warningly. "Don't give me that look." Raised her eyebrows. "Please?" She sighed loudly. "Oh, all right." She took his hand and groused all the way into the Great Hall. "That look is going to be trouble." Harry felt mildly pleased with himself, but then again, troubled by the fact that he wanted to hold a girl's hand that badly. Was he that messed up?

Of course, once he actually walked into the Great Hall, he forgot about that worry entirely. Five steps in and everyone was turning, pointing and calling out to him. The sling went psychedelic, apparently responding to all the noise—just what Harry wanted. Eight steps in and his eyes were drawn to the Ravenclaw table, where Cho Chang was standing up, looking in his direction. _Damn_. He was mentally kicking himself for promising to speak this morning when a strained cry caught his attention.

"_HARRY!"_

Neville's voice. Immediately, the hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up and he dropped Ginny's hand, knocked Hermione into Ron, ejected his wand and whipped it around.

"_Protego!"_ The shield was fully formed and the Bludgeoning Curse merely knocked him back a few feet. There was an explosion of voices, and a scream as Harry leveled his wand at Draco. Ron's wand was aimed a second later.

The screams died down to a gasp.

"Welcome back, Potter," the blond sneered.

"Thanks," Harry spat out, just before letting loose two almost simultaneous spells. While Draco blocked the Disarming Spell, the Bludgeoning Curse hit him on one shoulder, spinning him around and lifting him off his feet. Harry noted with satisfaction that not one of his cronies cast a Cushioning Charm for him.


	19. I Brake for DADA Class

_Chapter Eighteen: I Brake for DADA Class _

_Last chapter . . . _

Of course, once Harry actually walked into the Great Hall, he forgot about that worry entirely. Five steps in and everyone was turning, pointing and calling out to him. The sling went psychedelic, apparently responding to all the noise—just what Harry wanted. Eight steps in and his eyes were drawn to the Ravenclaw table, where Cho Chang was standing up, looking in his direction. _Damn_. He was mentally kicking himself for promising to speak this morning when a strained cry caught his attention.

"_HARRY!"_

Neville's voice. Immediately, the hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up and he dropped Ginny's hand, knocked Hermione into Ron, ejected his wand and whipped it around.

"_Protego!"_ The shield was fully formed and the Bludgeoning Curse merely knocked him back a few feet. There was an explosion of voices, and a scream as Harry leveled his wand at Draco. Ron's wand was aimed a second later.

The screams died down to a gasp.

"Welcome back, Potter," the blond sneered.

"Thanks," Harry spat out, just before letting loose two almost simultaneous spells. While Draco blocked the Disarming Spell, the Bludgeoning Curse hit him on one shoulder, spinning him around and lifting him off his feet. Harry noted with satisfaction that not one of his cronies cast a Cushioning Charm for him.

It was as if the whole assembly had been spring-loaded—that was how quickly the Great Hall exploded into motion—students yelling, curses flying, vengeance written on their faces. Harry saw instantly that Hogwarts had changed while he had been out. These students _wanted_ to hurt each other.

Professor Snape whipped up his wand with a shout of, _"Appono Tutelis!"_ and the entire Slytherin table glowed blue. The spells that had been spun from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables bounced off, sent spinning of all directions. Already on their feet, the Slytherins were retaliating when protection spells went up at the other tables—just in time to prevent bloodshed.

The four tables now glowed, each one a different color, each one protecting and separating its students from the other houses.

"That's new," Harry murmured, keeping his wand outstretched, nonetheless. The protection spell did not extend to the students who were not at the tables, meaning that Draco was still fair game. He was picking himself up and dusting himself rather painfully. _Good._

After a moment, Crabbe detached himself from the spell and lumbered over to help. It was the first time Harry had seen a Slytherin help Draco since school had begun and he almost laughed when the prat sneered at the help. Crabbe accepted the rebuff with his usual stoicism. It was strange to see him without Goyle. In all six years, Harry couldn't remember ever seeing them apart. There was no telling where Goyle was now. The Aurors had come last night for Narcissa; they would have questioned Goyle as well. Harry couldn't imagine Dumbledore letting a Sixth Year go to Azkaban, but this was surely more serious than a detention or suspension would convey. At least he hoped so.

As if he had heard Harry's thoughts, Crabbe turned his clay-colored face toward Harry and stared. There was no overt malice in his slitted, pig-like eyes, but Harry knew the intent of his gaze nonetheless. This was one of the Seven Deadly Slytherins, and this was Harry's warning. Harry locked gazes with the bigger boy and narrowed his eyes.

_Bring it on. _

Of course, by this time, Snape was snarling and taking off fifty House points from Gryffindor for Harry's retaliation. "For your reckless endangering of other students—"

The nearly hysteric brogue of Professor McGonagall topped him easily. "And sixty-five points from Slytherin for Draco, who started that entire display with overt malice towards another student—and an injured student at that!"

"Yes, thank you, Severus, Minerva. I think this may call for more than points taken away." The Headmaster walked toward the center of the room, his face stern. There was power emanating from him that caused the entire room to go still. "Draco, you were aware of the consequences of continued dueling in the Great Hall."

"Yes, sir," Draco said, still managing to summon a lower-grade smirk.

"Mr. Potter, however, had not been warned," Professor McGonagall pointed out quickly.

"Yes, Minerva, perhaps a warning here will be sufficient for Harry. However, Draco, we will be suspending you from classes for the day and holding your wand until the faculty decides on your punishment."

"Yes," Ron hissed. Professor McGonagall looked positively smug as the Headmaster continued.

"As it so happens, we were already meeting for a State of the School convention, our second this month as we once again find ourselves in extraordinary circumstances. We will there discuss further disciplinary measures and if you are found in contempt of a direct order from your Head of House—"

Draco sent a look to Professor Snape that was laced with panic.

The Potions Master immediately stepped forward. "Forgive me, Headmaster, I believe the error was on my part," he said smoothly.

The Headmaster turned toward the Potions Master with surprise. "Yes, Severus. How is that?"

Professor Snape glared at Harry. "I would prefer to speak of this in private."

"Yeah, I'm sure he would," Ron growled in Harry's ear. "Probably promised to adopt Draco if the prat would do away with you."

After giving Professor Snape a long look, the Headmaster turned to speak with to Professor McGonagall.

"With a Bludgeoning Curse?" Hermione whispered to Ron.

"In front of the entire school?" Harry added. "He had to know I'd block that."

"You're assuming this is premeditated," Ginny pointed out. "Remember the chamber pot in the Infirmary? Draco's losing it." Harry frowned. Draco _had_ thrown a chamber pot out of sheer rage at seeing Harry back in the Infirmary after he'd rescued Charlie. Why, Harry still didn't know. But looking back over at the prat now, he couldn't believe that argument this time.

"I don't think he's lost it. Looks to me like he's found something again."

Ginny looked over and stared at Draco standing in a circle of congratulatory Slytherins. "Of course," she breathed out. "Now—now, I'm going to _kill him."_ She ground out the last words and headed toward the Slytherin table.

"Oy!" Ron grabbed at one of her arms, and Harry at the other.

"Not now, Gin," Harry whispered in her ear.

She stopped struggling. "He tried to hurt you just to make good with his housemates!"

"Yeah, he did, but I can handle it. It was a Bludgeoning Curse, not an Unforgiveable." She raised surprised brown eyes to his and Harry paused. "What?"

"It doesn't matter _what_ it was—" she began, but was interrupted by the Headmaster, who had been speaking quietly with Professor McGonagall all this time.

"Yes, Severus, we will review the circumstances privately in my study. Harry, Draco, if you would be so kind as to attend the State of the School convening at six o'clock this evening. Now, as for rest of you who thought it wise to cast spells before breakfast was halfway completed, none of your spells connected and thus, you did not break the current school rules. But beginning tomorrow, there will be a zero tolerance policy for any hexes or curses cast inside the Great Hall. It will be known if you cast one, whatever type, and you will be punished accordingly. This area is to be a safe haven from school rivalries and politics. Also beginning tomorrow, there will be an added injunction against any student who takes action against Harry for his stand against Voldemort—" here he ignored the collective gasp from the students "—which will result in that student's immediate dismissal.

"As some of you are aware, Gregory Goyle has been detained for his involvement in a plot against Harry and his future has yet to be determined. But at the very least, he will no longer be attending classes at Hogwarts. Now, for those of you who have not gotten the message thus far, let me perfectly clear: Harry Potter is a student at Hogwarts and as such, he is under my protection."Dumbledore's smile grew no less warm, and yet his tone turned Harry's blood to ice. "He will not be harmed here and those who seek to do so will find me a formidable opponent." The power radiating from him was so strong now that many students stepped back, fear on their faces.

"In a final note, let me put to rest the rumors about Narcissa Malfoy running loose about the castle: she had been apprehended and has, I regret to say, chosen to take her own life rather than face up to the consequences of her action. Draco, you have our most heartfelt condolences." Harry's gaze shot over to Draco again, who had flushed pink, but returned his look coldly. "Hogwarts is now clear of all who are not students or faculty. This should make for a much more enjoyable and far safer year. Please continue on with your breakfast."

"There's your motive," Ron said in a low voice as they stared at the Slytherins welcoming Draco to their table. "They must have told him about his mother last night. He's pissed because you got his Mum killed."

"I don't know," Hermione put in from the other side of Ron. "They weren't exactly getting along lately."

"Yeah, but still—she's his mum, right?" Ginny said with a questioning look at Harry.

Ron agreed. "A_nd_ he wasn't the most stable bloke in the world to begin with. I think he's more dangerous now. Not that you should worry, Harry," he concluded lamely. "We've got your back."

"Thanks." Harry was watching Cho Chang approach Dumbledore. She was gesturing to Harry. "Oh no," Harry groaned. "Not now."

But instead of inviting Harry to speak, the Headmaster seemed to caution Cho before sending her back to her seat. With a nod and a gesture, he indicated that Harry should take his seat. Then he helped Professor McGonagall up the stairs to the Teachers' Table.

Harry and his friends were welcomed to their table by vigorous applause, which he hoped was due to the fact that most of this group hadn't seen him yet this morning and he'd just fended off an attack. He sincerely hoped it wasn't going to happen every meal.

"_Good moves, Harry!"_

"_Welcome back!"_

A few boos from the Slytherin table caught Harry's ears, but he just smiled and took the seat saved for him, along with Ginny, Hermione and Ron. Seamus had saved a seat for Neville.

"It was a good shot, Harry!" Colin enthused from down the table, in a voice that warbled between soprano and alto now. "Damn that Draco." He'd taken to cursing to sound a bit older.

"Why did you push me out of the way?" Hermione said pointedly to Harry. "I can protect myself, you know."

"Yeah, by hiding behind Harry," Ron said with a grin as he piled sausages on to his plate. She scowled at him, but there was a smile lurking beneath. Then Ron, putting one sausage on her plate, ducked to whisper something about giants in her ear. Hermione turned toward him and tried not to laugh.

"_Ow."_ The pain in Harry's hand finally claimed his attention as he tried to take a drink of milk while getting some bacon. When had it started hurting again?

"You used your bad hand to push me out of the way, you know," Hermione said conversationally. "You _might_ want to re-think that part of your strategy for next time and let the girls fend for themselves."

Harry just smiled. He started to reach for the bacon again and found three pieces already on his plate. He looked sideways and found Ginny smiling at him. "Thanks," he mumbled.

A few minutes into breakfast, for no discernible reason whatsoever, Harry's sling decided to change venues. Every time someone called out his name, the sling advertised unusual sayings like: _Dementors Suck!_,_ I Brake for Quidditch_ and _Honk if you love curse scars! _The twins, down at the other end of the table, waved at Harry and seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. They needed to be taken down a notch—that was for sure. Harry took a moment to add that to his old To-Do List and was surprised to see it so out-of-date. He'd been busy lately.

TO DO LIST:

Master Procclumency/Occlumency

Kiss a girl on purpose (a good kiss, too)

Kill Tom

Kill—well, put Lucius _out of commission_

Survive

First, Harry had significantly improved his use of Procclumency and Occlumency. In fact, given that moment in Professor Snape's class when he had broken Snape's shield and inserted his own memory in there, he rather thought he might have mastered both. And as for the second one, well, he'd taken care of that as well.

He slid another look beside him as she chatted amiably with the Gryffindors, one hand stealing under the table and popping up to nick a piece of toast from his plate. Harry smiled. He definitely needed to revise his list.

TO DO LIST:

Kiss Ginny more

2) Find out what the bloody hell Draco's up to

3) Dodge the Seven Deadly Slytherins

4) Prank the twins—and good

5) Put Lucius down—on way to killing Tom

_Perfect._ Thinking of a prank to play on the twins would be just the sort of thing to occupy his mind when kissing Ginny wasn't. Or surviving. But, for now, he really didn't mind everyone laughing at his sling. It _was_ sort of funny, especially once Ron explained that the sayings were adapted from bumper-sticker slogans on Muggle cars. Harry had seen them before, of course, but it was funny to watch Ron try to explain what point there was in sticking absurd sayings on the boot of an automobile.

Finally, Seamus summed it up nicely. "It's a Muggle thing, that is; don't expect to understand it."

"Yeah, unless you're my Dad," Ron gestured with a piece of bacon. "He has a whole box full of that kind of stuff—gives Mum fits—and it's all having to do with automobiles—keys, bumper stickers, fuzzy dice and air fresheners. The twins got him one of those bobbling hula girls for his last birthday—I think they said that the Muggles stick it on their dash. He loved it."

"So did Bill," Ginny said with a wicked smile. "I think I remember him wondering what Fleur would look like in a bikini and a grass skirt."

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice at the sudden mental image, but his fit paled in comparison to Ron's, who seemed to have swallowed an entire sausage down the wrong way. Hermione added to the noise by pounding on his back, saying, "Honestly!" and "Really, Ron," over and over again.

Harry was still smiling when he looked up to see Tobias Wafting staring at him from down the table with lonely, troubled eyes. Sudden concern for the boy hit him hard. What was it someone had said about Blaise threatening Tobias?

"Be right back," he told his friends.

Ginny grabbed his hand. "Where are you going?"

"I've got to talk to Tobias before class," Harry told Ginny.

"Not without me, mate," Ron said, standing and coughing once more into his napkin. Then he grabbed another sausage for the road.

"Better hurry," Ginny pointed past Harry's shoulder. Harry turned to see that Tobias was already walking out of the Great Hall, giving the Slytherin table a wide berth.

"Later," he said, bending to give her a quick kiss. Several people squealed around the room, and he heard a few gasps as well. Harry ignored them and grabbed his bookbag.

"So—are you going to inhale this one," Hermione said, indicating the sausage in Ron's hand with a nod, "or eat it?"

Ron flushed uncomfortably. "Well, I dunno. You never know what I might do with my food. I was actually thinking of sticking it up my ar—"

His snarl was drowned out by a general shout of laughter as Harry dragged Ron from the table.

"Oh, give it up, Hermione," Harry heard Dean say loudly, "He's a barbarian."

"Stop bloody pretending his table manners don't turn you on," Seamus called even louder. The whole table was roaring with laughter, but Harry was sure Hermione hadn't joined in.

Tobias was already out the door and Harry followed as quickly as possible, but was forced to pull up short as Luna appeared in front of him. Ron knocked into Harry's back. "Sorry, mate," he muttered, his mouth still full of food.

"Hello, Harry," Luna said in a dreamy voice. "I've been wanting to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Were you just kissing Ginny?"

"Uh . . . yeah."

"Oh, I thought you were." Luna smiled, fiddling with the wand tucked back behind her ear. Harry waited a moment for her to continue, but she just smiled at him vacantly. "That's nice."

"Yeah. Is that all you wanted to ask?"

"Oh, no. I had a dream about you."

Harry waited a little less time before prodding her this time. "What kind of dream?"

"It was a field of dandelions on a hill, on a beautiful day. Well, except for the crows. They sort of ruined it."

Ron snickered behind him, but Harry just ploughed on. "What were the crows doing?"

"Well, you see, all the dandelions were gone except one—that was you—because the crows kept eating them. It was more like a field of crows, really, all pecking and tearing at the flowers and the grass. That's why there was only one bright yellow flower left, alone in that dark, terrible field." Her large eyes grew rounder. "It was so sad that I almost couldn't keep on top of the budgie."

"Budgie?" Harry repeated, a bit despairingly. It all sounded like complete nonsense to him.

"Yes, I was riding a budgie sidesaddle, like I always do in my dreams, in this long, velvet skirt like my mum used to wear under her dress robes. And I kept trying to scare the crows away from the dandelion—you, as I said—but there too many of them and they just kept coming and coming. It was so loud and so awful and I couldn't stop them from tearing away at you." Unbidden, the image grew in Harry's mind—the shifting, jabbering crows, wings beating the air, and one small bit of yellow drowning in a field of black. "Just as I got there, a crow was tearing away your petals and scattering your leaves. And you were bleeding—the poor dandelion was bleeding. And that's when I woke up," she said solemnly, her gaze heavy with unspoken meaning that Harry wasn't sure he got. "I woke up crying," Luna finished.

Harry nodded, automatically sticking the dream in the same place with all the Trelawney predictions—and flushing. "I'm sorry. Look, I've got to go."

"But what about the dandelion?" Luna looked vaguely unsettled, as though still lost in her dream.

"I'm sure it's tougher than it looks. Don't worry so much. Ron, you coming?" Harry gave his friend a pointed look, and Ron said goodbye to Luna without laughing too hard.

As Harry held the huge door for Ron, he glanced at the Teacher's Table. Dumbledore was watching him with a smile that seemed to approve of him in general and of what he was doing in specific. Snape, standing to the Headmaster's right and glaring at Harry, sniffed contemptuously and turned to Professor Flitwick to say something. Flitwick, who was also standing, but with much less effect, waved to Harry cheerily. Professor McGonagall looked ill-at-ease, as though she was in her chair only at the behest of Dumbledore, which could very well be the case. She was watching the Slytherin table carefully. Professor Haverlime, with whom Harry had yet to take a class, simply smiled and saluted him from under her blue turban. Hagrid waved his huge paw in the air, looking tired, but glad to see Harry back. Beside him, Firenze looked neither perturbed nor exactly comfortable in his strange, low-slung chair. He bowed his head to Harry slightly.

Harry bowed back, suddenly remembering the first time he'd met the Centaur who had saved his life. Hadn't there been a prophecy mentioned, even back then, that his destiny was to die in the fight against Voldemort?

"What is it, Harry," Ron asked from beside him.

At the time, it had seemed so unlikely; there had been so many wizards who were more powerful and more equipped to fight that battle. He hadn't understood why it should be him. But now, he knew differently. Before the next Sorting at Hogwarts, it would all be decided—for ill or good.

"Come on, Harry," Ron prodded, "Do you want to catch that First Year or not?"

Harry blinked and saw the Teacher's Table again.

"Yeah, let's go."

Ron and Harry spent several minutes trying to track down Tobias, finally finding him on the staircase leading up to Gryffindor Tower. He was walking quickly, thin shoulders hunched over under his robes, blond hair scruffed-up as usual. When Harry called to him, Tobias stopped and spun around, his face frozen in amazement.

"Yeah, Harry? You need me?" His face was sliding between admiration, fear and such a desperate sadness that Harry immediately knew he'd done the right thing to track the boy down.

Harry nodded. "I was concerned about you."

"About me?" Tobias' voice edged up toward impossibly high. He cleared his voice before continuing in a breathlessly. "Why would you be worried about me?"

"Did Blaise Zabini say something to you?"

Tobias' mouth fell open. "How'd you hear about that?" he whispered.

"Ron and the others brought me up to speed. What happened?"

Tobias just shook his head, obviously struggling with what to say. His eyes glistened suspiciously and then words came suddenly pouring out. "It wasn't just Zabini. He had Goyle and that other skinny Sixth Year—what's his name?"

"Nott?" Harry supplied tersely.

"Yeah, him. They stopped me out in the hallway when I was heading down to Potions and they were coming up." Tobias was losing his composure, the words coming out huskier and thicker as he talked. "I usually walk with Violet, but she was in the Hospital Wing after that big row at breakfast."

"Oh, right," Ron said in a subdued tone. "The one where four Slytherins ended up spitting out slugs? That was a good one."

Tobias swallowed and nodded. "It was that one. I managed to stay out of it somehow, but on the way to class, Zabini and those guys pulled me into an empty hallway and asked me if I was friends with Zimmy Twitchtie."

"What did you say?" Harry prompted.

"I said yes, because we are. We're sort of . . . maybe more than friends, you know." Tobias looked away and wiped a finger at his lips haphazardly. "They didn't like that." He paused, staring miserably at the ground.

"What did they do?" Harry asked quietly. Tobias didn't answer him and sudden fear unnerved him into raising his voice. "What did they DO?"

Tobias looked up in surprise, then lowered his head again. There was a moment of horrible silence before he finally admitted, "They beat the bloody hell out of me."

"WHAT?" Ron yelled. "Oh, they're dead—DEAD!"

Harry looked back and forth between Ron and Tobias, then grabbed the First Year by the arm. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Tobias was suddenly sobbing, wiping at his eyes desperately. "I didn't know what to do! Everyone was already in so much trouble!" He turned helplessly to Harry. "I didn't think Hogwarts was going to be like this! I thought this place would be different!" Then his misery melted into a mask of self-disgust and he jerked away, wiping at his nose. "I gotta' go get my books."

Ron got ahead of him, forcing Tobias to stop. "Slow down, Toby. Listen. We won't let them get away with that. I don't know how your other school was, but here, you have mates." Harry was surprised by how much Ron sounded like Charlie just then, but it warmed his heart.

"You're Muggleborn, right?" Harry asked Tobias quietly and the boy turned to look at him, brown eyes glistening with surprise.

"Yeah," Tobias admitted, wiping at his nose again. "You're halfblood, right?"

"Yeah, and I was kind of . . . small and scrawny—"

"—kind of—" Ron sputtered helpfully.

"Shut it, Ron," Harry paused. "Anyway, my cousin and his friends beat up on me all the time. Was your old school like that, too?"

Tobias hesitated, his gaze sliding away from Harry. "Yeah. And my dad didn't do anything about it. Wanted me to 'fight my own battles.' What rot." Ron and Harry exchanged fiery glances that said _the Slytherins will pay for this one._ Tobias looked from one to the other and gave his eyes a final wipe. "Look, I'm sorry I blubbered. I can handle this—really. Forget I said anything. I just don't know what to do about Zimmy. She's my friend and I feel bad for getting her in trouble with them. All she was trying to do was find out information about the Seven Deadly Slytherins for you."

Harry swore quietly. "Tell her to lie low. I don't need her help that badly. Or yours. You just . . ." Harry swore, more colorfully this time and clenched his left hand until it seared. "I'll handle Zabini. You two stay friends. Just don't go snooping around and asking for trouble."

Ron muttered, "I can't believe you just said that."

Harry paused and gave Ron a look. "Me, either."

Ron smiled briefly, then went on, "But let's think about this for a minute. Maybe he shouldn't be friends with this Twitchtie girl. Mum and Dad say their family is chock-full of Dark Wizards and—"

"Like Sirius' family, you mean?" Harry shot back.

"I'm just saying that she could be used to set you up, Harry, so we have to—"

"She could not!" Tobias protested. "She's my friend, Harry! She'd never do that!"

Ron leveled him with a look. "Yeah, well, in Harry's fourth year, a professor set him up; this summer, it was that bloody Draco bastard; and a few weeks ago, it was Neville—only it really wasn't, but anyway—so you'll have to excuse me if I don't believe the testimony of a Muggleborn First Year."

Tobias stared at Ron a moment, then sighed, his shoulders drooping. "So what do I do, then?"

Harry tried to give him an encouraging look. "Just be careful. Be her friend, but don't ask for information; don't act on anything she says and, for God's sake, start walking everywhere with other Gryffindors."

The boy's eyes brightened up. "Okay, I will." Then he hesitated. "So . . . I guess you don't want to hear the last thing Zimmy told me, then."

Harry and Ron stared at each other. "Should have brought Hermione with us, mate," Ron said in a low voice.

"Go ahead, Tobias," Harry said, though his stomach was already burning with dread.

"It's another one of those things that sound crazy. I don't know what to believe." Tobias looked at them each earnestly. "She told me that Goyle is dead and that the Slytherins are covering it up."

"That's impossible!" Hermione exclaimed, her hands frozen in the task of getting out her Defense Against the Dark Arts book. "How on earth could they hide a dead student? It's not as if Dumbledore wouldn't know. Besides, they've already explained why Goyle wasn't at breakfast—he's been expelled. There's no way that something like that could be covered up. At least his Head of House . . . _ohhhhhhh."_ She fell silent.

Harry nodded, seeing that her mind had gone exactly where his had. Snape was the Head of House for Slytherin, and who in the hell knew where his loyalties lay? "If they give it out that Goyle is dead, there'll be an investigation and the school might get shut down. They don't want that."

She locked eyes with him. "Because they're not done with you yet, are they?" Worry settled deep into her eyes. "We've got to talk to Dumbledore about this."

"Now?" Ron asked, looking from Harry to Hermione.

"No. Look, I'm already going to see him at six and this is the first N.E.W.T.-level Defense Against the Dark Arts class I've been to," Harry argued back. "And besides, Dumbledore told me they had Goyle under lock and key for his own protection as well as mine. He's probably shut up somewhere, eating half a table at every meal and perfectly healthy. It's got to be a rumor started by someone who noticed him missing meals and wanted to cause more chaos."

"Or a wish started by someone who didn't see him at breakfast and wanted more Slytherins dead," Ron added morosely.

Harry smiled, but Hermione was lost in thought, her book and parchment set out on her desk, her eyes a million miles away. The N.E.W.T.-level Defense Against the Dark Arts class was an interesting mix of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, almost all members of the D.A. No Slytherins at all. They seemed to be excited that Harry had made it to class, and the room was in a happy buzz, all except Hermione, who was ticking something off on her fingers and still looking dreamy. Ron poked at her with his wand. She ignored him.

"Good morning, class," said a cheery voice from behind them. Harry turned to see Professor Havelime entering, her robes billowing, her turquoise turban catching the light and shining brilliantly. As the professor passed his desk and smiled at him, he saw that her eyes were a bright blue that didn't match the rest of her faded, wrinkled face. They looked too lively to belong to an old person, reminding Harry vaguely of Professor Dumbledore.

"We are all here this morning, which is a rare treat this year. No one suspended for fighting, no one still in the Infirmary, and Mr. Potter finally back from his various activities. I am so pleased to be able to teach you, Harry." Here, the blue eyes fastened on him with such joyous intensity that Harry slid down in his seat a bit. "Yes, yes, I know you don't like being singled out, but really—to teach The-Boy-Who-Lived is such an honor." Harry tried to give her a smile, but it probably looked more like the pathetic puppy-dog face that Ginny hated. _Please move on!_

"Yes, yes, enough of that, I see," Professor Haverlime chimed happily and without warning, whipped around and dropped to one knee. She shot off a spell at Harry, who ducked. There was a squeak and a thud behind him, and Harry turned to see Neville on the floor, Stunned. Harry, who hadn't had time to conjure a shield, stared at the teacher in amazement and then at his fellow students, who all had their wands out and were steadily watching Professor Haverlime. They looked much less shocked than he was.

"Oh, nicely done, Harry," Professor Haverlime said as she climbed to her feet, moving much more easily than he would have thought an older woman could. "Ten points to Gryffindor. And would someone revive poor Neville? Yes, there you are. Sorry dear, I was aiming at Harry. Yes, maybe you'd better move an aisle over and clear the path behind him. Smart thinking." She tapped her wand to her forehead. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, we were demonstrating how one must be ready at all times for attack. Shields are good, but only if have enough time—better to dive out of the way, as Harry did, than to be caught with your wand up and the shield half-formed." The students all murmured approval at this.

Then Professor Haverlime started to lecture on a topic Harry was very familiar with: Sensing. It was an ability he was slowly becoming comfortable with using, one that he had worked on over the summer at the Order headquarters. However, Professor Haverlime gave the definition a little spin from what he had heard before, calling it the Sixth Sense.

"Muggles, dear things, have used that term to refer to an ability to see into the future, but they have no idea what they're talking about. Oh no, not at all. There are five senses we use to give us information about our world: sight, touch, smell, sound and taste. From them we can do everything from carrying on conversations to playing Quidditch, using different combinations of each of them to get us through.

"But what about where magic is concerned? Can you always hear it? See it? Smell it? Ah," she smiled as the students' expressions changes. "Sometimes you can hear a spell being cast, but what if it's a wandless spell?" She waved her hand and a bright beach ball appeared, falling into her hands. "Now, that was magic." She tossed the ball into the air and with a wave, it vanished. Harry wasn't sure whether to be amused or impressed. _Beach balls._ He felt like he should be a First Year again.

"Now, if I had blindfolded you," Professor Haverlime walked over to her desk and picked up a black scarf, "and performed the same stunt, would you have been able to know that magic was being worked only yards away from you? If it had been a curse I had tossed your way instead of a beach ball, would you have been able to defend yourself?" Her smile slowly faded. "If this were any other year, I would be teaching you to defend yourself against beach balls or something similarly innocuous. But the Headmaster needs this class to be ready to defend itself from far worse."

Harry found himself examining the floor, agreeing with her and feeling again the weight of his own dark task. "Harry?" Professor Haverlime called his attention back. "I was told that you have been working on your Sensing. Is that correct?"

Harry nodded.

"Would you give us a demonstration?"

He blinked and started to protest, but the other students were already calling out in agreement, some encouraging him and some demanding he try it.

"It might be good training," Hermione added helpfully.

"Go on," Ron said with a grin, "show her where to put that bloody beach ball."

Harry smiled—no, grinned—and cut his eyes to where the Professor was waiting with a smile of her own. "All right. I'll do it."

The class erupted into cheers.

"Now, now, not so fast. I'll need some more volunteers to be Harry's sparring partners. What? You didn't think I was going to attack one of my own students, did you?" She made a disparaging noise. "Come on, you—Dean, Ronald—yes, you—Parvati, Justin . . . where's that lovely girl with the bobbed hair? Ah, yes—Hannah, dear. Take your places, in a circle around Harry, if you please. Ah, now, Harry don't look so concerned. We've had many duels in this class so far this year and we haven't lost anyone yet!"

Harry wasn't really nervous, but he did feel a bit exposed standing in the center of the dueling area. It was bigger than it had looked at first, nearly twice as long as it was wide, and the hardwood floor was as springy as a mattress. Falling wouldn't hurt her—not that he was worried. The other students were smiling at him, only Hannah and Parvati hadn't raised their wands yet.

"Professor Haverlime," Hannah raised one hand uncertainly.

"Yes, dear. Glasses off, please," the professor said as she got into place behind Harry and slipped the black, silky blindfold over his eyes. Harry awkwardly tucked his glasses away in the breast pocket of his robes. He could feel the Professor's warm presence behind him, and realized that she was almost exactly his height.

"What spells are we to use?"

"Oh, only the lightest ones, of course—Jellylegs Jinxes, Tickling Charms, perhaps a Stinging Hex if you're feeling bold. Just be sure to aim at Harry's good side, not the arm with the sling, please." The smell of a light perfume came from the Professor's robes as she swished by Harry. "And let me warn you, I have heard that Harry is very quick with a shield and you are likely to get hit by what you send if you aren't just as quick with a shield in return. So don't cast anything you wouldn't want to get hit with yourself. Fair enough?"

With his sight gone, Harry began to focus on his other senses, especially sound. He could hear the shifting of bodies in the room and quiet murmuring out where the other students were seated. Hannah was whispering to Parvati, asking what spell she should use. Ron was clearing his throat, and getting in his dueling stance. In the near silence that followed, Harry closed his eyes from behind the blindfold and bent his right wrist, releasing his wand into his hand. He fingered the well-worn grip, feeling the smooth wood with a practiced hand. A deep breath worked its way inside his chest, and with it came images, magical auras surrounding the people in the room.

Ahead was Professor Haverlime, in bright blue rings not unlike the turban she wore. To her left was Ron, emanating his own steady, red glow. Hannah, beside him, was sending shivery waves of violet into the air. Harry wished he knew what the colors meant, but it didn't matter at the moment.

"Now, everyone is not going to fire at Harry all at once." There were a few sighs of relief from the students and Harry smiled. "Goodness, no. I want a good duel here, with a few alliances, lots of spells and lots of action. Only Harry works alone, unless any of you others are prepared to try Sensing as well?" Harry waited, feeling the expectancy in the air. "No? Well, maybe down the road a bit. For now, let's just see how it works, shall we?"

Harry drew in a deep breath and let it out.

"Everone engage in three . . . two . . . one . . . and _go."_ There was instant chaos. Shouts and spells were all around him. Harry felt an expulsion of magic go by on his left side, but stood his ground. Whoever it was—Dean? Justin?—had missed.

"_Protego!"_ Ron shouted and Harry felt the spell richocet off to the left. Over his head one band of blue flew; while another another orange one shot by his knee. The spells were different colors? Harry crouched, ready to jump aside at any moment. Professor Haverlime hadn't said that he was to attack anyone . . . and the way the spells were going . . .

Hannah finally sent violet bolt far to his right which Parvati easily deflected into the crowd of students. Someone cried out in pain.

"Sorry!" Justin yelled.

More spells flew. Harry could see colors flashing by; saw Hannah get hit by a flash of red that sent her flying. He heard her land with an _oomph_ just as Justin sent a Jellylegs Jinx at Parvati. She was too clumsy with her shield and down she went with a screech.

"Wait—wait—wait a minute," Professor Haverlime said loudly, walking over to the Dueling Area. "Harry, take off your blindfold." Harry did so, blinking owlishly in the sudden light. Professor Haverlime was standing before him, both hands on her hips. "Why didn't you move? There were curses going on all around you. Did you not Sense them?"

Harry thought a moment. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. But I didn't have to move—none of them were coming at me."

Professor Haverlime looked thunderstruck and turned to look at each of the other participating students in turn. "Were none of you shooting curses at Harry? You do realize that the entire purpose of the demonstration was to test Harry's Sensing abililites?" Harry looked around and saw them all nodding. Ron gave a shrug.

Professor Haverlime took a step onto the Dueling Area, her glare more evident up close. "Then why weren't you firing them at him?"

After a moment of silence, Dean spoke up. "Just didn't feel right." He shot Harry a small smile.

"And what about you," Haverlime shot at Ron.

"Sorry, professor, I can't," he admitted with a shrug. "I'm his bodyguard."

"Yeah. I guess I couldn't, either," Justin said after a short silence. "He's got his arm in a sling and all."

"And hasn't he already got enough people throwing hexes at him?" Hannah asked anxiously. "I mean, I'm on his side, not theirs. I want to help him, not hurt him."

Harry lowered his gaze to the floor and stowed away his wand. In the following silence, he adjusted his sling and surreptitiously risked a glance at the professor. She had one hand over her mouth and tears had filled her eyes. She waved them all back to their places with one hand.

When she finally did speak a few minutes later, it was to award fifty House Points each to Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw for showing school unity. And that was how Harry's first DADA lesson of his Sixth Year ended—with his classmates cheering and his professor in tears.


	20. Dealing with the Devil

Chapter Nineteen: Dealing with the Devil

The warm feeling from his Defense Against the Dark Arts class stayed with Harry the rest of the day. In fact, he was so cheery at lunch without being able to explain why that Ginny was suspicious. She looked away from Harry and sipped her pumpkin juice.

"Maybe you fancy Professor Haverlime," she said airily.

Ron choked on his pumpkin juice. "Did you _have_ to make me imagine that?"

"Stranger things have been known to happen," she continued, sliding her gaze over to Harry.

"Of course I don't fancy her," Harry protested lightly, still smiling.

"She just might fancy _him_, though," Parvati giggled from down the table as she smeared marmalade on a roll. "You should have seen her face when he dodged that curse she threw at him."

Ron was horrified. "But she's—she's _old!"_

"Some old ladies like 'em young," Seamus spoke up. "My Aunt Bonnie's living-in with a lad whose only eighteen—and she's near forty."

Ron made an awful face. "That's disgusting!"

Ginny's looked appraisingly at Harry. "So Haverlime's in love with the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"It's not like that," Harry muttered, beginning to feel pink in the cheeks. "She was just very . . ."

"Worshipful," Hermione supplied, then frowned when half the table laughed. "And I'm not sure it's so very funny." She turned to Harry. "How is she going to teach you what you need to know if she's too busy melting into a puddle of goo every time you deflect a curse?"

"Teach him?" Ron protested. "What's she supposed to teach him about fighting the Dark Arts that he doesn't already know?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know everything, Ron."

"Of course you don't," Hermione snapped. "Ron, that's just the sort of attitude he doesn't need to have. If there's anything that might put him in danger, it's thinking that he's already ready."

"I'm not ready. I know that," Harry insisted.

"Hmmph," Ron grumbled. "I'd like to see old Haverlime infiltrate one of Volde—Volde—Vol-de-mort's hideouts and rescue a captured Order member."

Hermione stared at Ron, entranced. "You said it. You said his name."

Harry and Ginny exchanged smiles.

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" Ron grinned. Hermione patted him on the arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"So, what exactly _did_ happen in Defense Against the Dark Arts Class?" Ginny prodded. Harry tried to mumble something general and get out of it, but she pressed him. When he finally did start explaining, Hermione jumped in because he "wasn't telling it right." To Harry's complete embarrassment, she gave a full recitation of the events, even though almost everyone at their table had been there.

"That's it. I'm setting Hannah up with George," Ginny said, wiping her eyes after Hermione finished. Harry exchanged a questioning look with Ron.

"And why would you do that?" he asked tentatively, fully expecting the loud sigh and glare he got from Hermione. Ginny, however, just gave him a quick grin.

"Oh, never you mind, Harry Potter," she said with a glint in her eyes. "That's girl business."

Harry raised his hands and shrugged to show that he wasn't going to touch that topic with a five-foot wand. He loaded his plate up with his favorites, and in-between bites, asked for a rundown of the Quidditch situation. The answers were discouraging. With three new players and one player moved to a new position, the team was far from ready for the season. Part of the problem was that they had yet to practice with their Seeker though they'd been meeting on and off for two weeks. Ron said Katie was satisfied with the progress of the Chasers thus far, but the Beaters needed a lot of work.

The hardest part to hear was the figures and facts Ron had amassed about the other house Quidditch teams. Between Slytherin's unbeatable Beaters—Reynold Bartolemew and Hector Gravesly— and Hufflepuff's "Terrific Triad" of Chasers from the previous year, their season looked tougher than it had in many years. They only had just over a month to get the entire team into shape. The first match of the season was Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor, and Katie (as well as Ron) wanted them to be ready. Harry was surprised to realize that Katie hadn't been on his back about practice. When he mentioned it, Ron snorted.

"That's because she's afraid to mention it to you," he said, exasperated. "Says it's not as important as the other stuff you're dealing with!"

"Well, of course it isn't, Ron," Hermione said firmly, who was no longer nuzzling his side now that he was talking sports. "Quidditch isn't everything. There's a whole world of Wizards out there that don't know or care anything about Quidditch and they lead successful, normal, happy lives."

Ron stared at her. "Not by _my_ book, they don't." He shook his head and picked up his goblet of pumpkin juice. "It's comments like that that make me wonder about your sanity." He took a swig while Ginny giggled.

"Hermione, you've really got to pick your battles better."

Harry's afternoon class was Care of Magical Creatures, which included a stirring and quite frightening lecture on Quintapeds. Given the note of affection and admiration in Hagrid's voice, Harry was unsurprised to hear from Hermione that Quintapeds were classified with four Xes by the Ministry of Magic. According to Hagrid, Quintapeds were dangerous carnivores with five clubfooted legs and low-slung bodies that particularly enjoyed the taste of humans—not that he blamed them, poor, dumb beasts. They had been that way since they had been Transfigured into that form by a rival family on their Scottish Isle. Hagrid actually wiped a tear away as he opined that having once been human, they surely must be the most misunderstood of beasts.

"Well, he can talk all he wants to," Ron muttered, "as long as he doesn't start bringing Quintapeds in for us to feed. They'd likely be very unhappy and go for the hand holding the food instead."

"He wouldn't do that," Hermione said firmly, looking pale.

"You never know with Hagrid," Ron said seriously. "I think I heard something rustling back behind the shack." Hermione edged closer to him and Ron gave Harry a covert grin.

Ron was right. The rustling turned out to be a giant, golden ox that Hagrid led out with a proud look while the students retreated to a safer distance away. He very loudly called it a Re'em and said it was the only one of its kind in the British Isles. "A Re'em can give grea' strength to 'hoever drinks its blood, which o'course makes 'em a very desirable animal fer a Dark Wizard ter have 'round," Hagrid said to the students in a conspiratorial voice as he reached up to pat its golden fur lightly. From the slight gasp Hermione gave, Harry knew she was as concerned as he was.

The Slytherins were sitting in a pack as usual, and Harry could see Blaise and Theodore Nott exchanging pointed glances. _Great_. "Just what they needed," Harry muttered under his breath. Hermione agreed.

The Re'em seemed placid enough, eating grass in extremely large mouthfuls as Hagrid talked. It was hard to believe that anyone would want to drink its blood, but then, Harry had caught someone doing that before, many years ago. Dark wizards wouldn't shrink from causing an animal pain—they might even like doing it.

Each of the students had to give the Re'em a handful of oats before heading back to the castle, so Hermione and Ron made sure they were near the end.

"Not because I'm scared, Harry, but so we can talk to Hagrid," Hermione insisted.

"Right. Me, too," Ron agreed.

Harry smiled.

The Re'em _was_ scarily large and more than one student had to be coerced near to it. Harry liked the touch of the soft, horse-like muzzle against his hand and found himself glancing up into soft, brown eyes. "I hope you stay safe," he whispered to it.

Ron looked frozen until his turn feeding it was over. Hermione hung back nervously, but she managed to get near enough for the Re'em to reach her hand with its tongue. After the last students were done, Hermione led Harry and Ron over to the hut. Hagrid was there, scooping large, steaming piles of dung into a large sack as the Re'em stood tethered close by, munching contentedly on more grain.

"Didn' she do grea'?" Hagrid grinned at them, apparently not noticing that they were standing as far back from the dung as possible. "Never woulda' imagined it—a Re'em, here on school grounds."

"Er, Hagrid . . . does anyone else know that you have that Re'em—I mean, anyone not at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked in a timid voice.

"Oh, no," Hagrid said as he straightened up and pushed at his lower back with one hand. "Found out she'd been captured and used fer blood harvestin', the poor thing, and I 'ad ter get 'er some place safe."

The trio exchanged looks, but said nothing more about the animal.

"Good lesson, Hagrid," Harry said as they shoved off. Hagrid gave them a cheery wave and he went back to shoveling dung.

"You know, I think I actually liked that one," Ron admitted on their way back to the castle.

"Hagrid needs to be more careful," Hermione put in obstinately. "There's a reason Re'ems have a four-X danger classification."

"The only real danger is that they might step on you," Ron said simply. "Pretty easy to avoid, really."

"Yes, but, having an animal here that attracts Dark Wizards? He's just lucky the Aurors didn't catch him with it," she said in a worried voice. "They were just here yesterday, you know."

Harry frowned. "It's not an illegal animal, is it?"

"No, but I'm pretty sure that he did something illegal to get it, and you know the Aurors would ask all sorts of questions if they saw it."

Harry knew she was right, but didn't think Hagrid was in any real danger. The Re'em? Maybe. There were a lot of Slytherins who would like to get their hands on that blood. From that, his mind skittered quickly to the meeting with Draco (who had been glaringly absent from Care of Magical Creatures) and the professors at six. Harry had a lot of homework to do, and on a sunny day like today, seeing the Quidditch Pitch in the distance was pure agony. His missed two weeks of classes was going to be painful to catch up on.

Harry forced himself to sit at the Common Room study table and focus on one subject after the other until it was time to stop for an early dinner. Then, with a groan, Harry laid his head on the table, as unhappy with Hermione's vocal approval of his diligent studies as he was with Ron's diatribe for studying too much.

Harry ate dinner quietly, his mind straying to the meeting. He had no idea what they expected him to do at the hearing but just show up to be evidence that Malfoy—Draco—had indeed hexed him in the Great Hall. He'd get a slap on the wrist for retaliating, but the main attention was to be on Draco's punishment. Harry smiled just to think of Draco without his wand all day long. That must have been why he missed class. Whenever Harry had seen him, the prat had been slinking around—his eyes downcast, Crabbe loyally by his side. Without even the basic defense of his wand, Draco had probably been afraid to anger another student.

The thought of that made Harry smile even bigger.

And then he saw Cho headed his way.

Harry muttered a curse and ducked his head. Ginny looked over and cursed as well. Harry stared at her.

"There's got to be a way out of this," she said as if reading his mind.

"But I already promised," Harry muttered.

"Out of what?" Hermione asked as she and Ron quit their quiet conversation to listen.

Ginny filled them in, making Harry sound like a child waylaid on his way home from his grandmother's. "She _knew_ he was injured and on painkillers, and she asked him anyway!"

"That is rather shady of her," Hermione agreed.

"So you don't want to make the speech, Harry?" Dean asked casually, sounding somehow surprised.

They all turned to stare at him.

"You great git," Ginny said in a stunned voice, "you know Harry hates speaking in public."

"Well, yeah, 'course I do," Dean's expression darkened, "it's basic Potter Knowledge, but I thought that—I mean, there was that speech he did at the beginning of the year—"

"Forced into it," Harry summed up grimly.

"Oh, right." Dean blinked. "But then, all the—all the girls. Remember the girls afterwards?"

"Hated it," Harry ground out between clenched teeth.

"Really?" Dean sounded skeptical.

"Yes!" Harry practically shouted.

Seamus punched Dean in the arm, hard. "Will you just shut it, mate? You sound like an utter windae-licker."

"Sorry to interrupt. Harry?" Harry turned around to see Cho looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think it absolutely necessary. You saw the reaction this morning to Draco's attack. The students are so nervous and they need to know that they can stand down, that you're okay and that Ginny wasn't to blame for the Love Potion fiasco."

Harry buried his head in his hands. He'd forgotten that people had blamed Ginny for that. Ginny put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed rather hard, standing as she did so.

"He doesn't have to make a speech just to get people off my back," she said with venom, "and thanks so much for making him feel that way."

"I didn't make—"

"I can take care of myself," Ginny went on. "I don't need him or anyone else fighting my battles for me. _Don't_ guilt him into this."

Harry popped up out of his chair, placing himself in the frigid air between Cho and Ginny. He raised one hand to speak, but Hermione beat him to it.

"I've got it! I know what you can do."

Everyone froze and turned to her. Hermione smiled. "What if we have you do another interview?"

"_Interview?"_ Cho, Harry and Ginny asked at the same time.

"Yes," Hermione continued, "like we did for _The_ _Quibbler_. We can print the whole story of what happened with Pansy—or well, at least as much as you need to tell for people to understand—" she inserted that as Harry's face turned pale, "it doesn't have to be _everything, _of course. We can even have a Q and A session at the bottom to make sure that everything gets covered. What do you think?"

Harry paused.

"It's a good idea, Harry," Cho said, " not just to make it easier on you, but to give something to the kids that they can hold and read at again and again. The houses need to be united, and understanding what you're up against really may help them get on your side. That's as close to united as we're going to get, I'm afraid."

Ginny took his hand, her face hard. "You still don't have to do this. Not for me. Do it if you want to help everyone else understand, that's all."

Harry scanned the room, his gaze resting on each of the other three houses for a time. The students were eating dinner, but a fair number of them were looking back at him, wanting as always to know what he was doing and who he was talking to. He would never understand that. There was no doubt that hearing exactly what had happened with Pansy would exonerate Ginny in their eyes. But he also had a faint hope—one that he felt growing as he looked over the Slytherin table full of familiar faces—that maybe hearing the whole story would discourage the them from carrying out their plans, for whatever reason. Of course, it might be too late. Zimmy Twitchties's message about Goyle's probable death made it seem like the Seven Deadly Slytherins were stuck in a kill or be killed pact. Maybe there was no way out for them, but he had to at least try.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do it," Harry agreed. Cho shook his hand and thanked Hermione. They made quick plans for a meeting tomorrow night to get the interview, seeming sure that Luna would be able to work out an in-school edition of the Quibbler if she had help from the Weasleys and Hermione.

Harry smiled at Cho before she walked away. It did seem like she was concerned for the school instead of trying to make his life more difficult. But that melancholy tone she'd adopted since last year was still there under the surface.

Maybe she still thought about Cedric.

Maybe she thought that Harry didn't.

He did. He remembered everyone who had died as Voldemort gained power. Those memories were air and bread and water to him still. And when he needed it, they were fuel and fire.

Harry and Ron had left themselves just enough time to make it to the meeting. They talked Quidditch all the way there, the conversation serving to make Harry so anxious to get out to the Pitch that he could hardly stand to go to Dumbledore's office instead of heading outside. But he forced the feeling aside and stood before the gargoyle, prepared to give the appropriate password.

The gargoyle stepped smartly aside, leaving Harry with his mouth hanging open.

"Now, that's what I call service," Ron said, standing straight from where he had been leaning against the wall. "They got that programmed to your magical signature or something?"

An oily laugh from inside answered them. "Of course, Weasley," Severus Snape's sneering faced appeared from within. "After all, the Boy-Who-Lived must have twenty-four hour access to the Headmaster, now mustn't he?" Snape stopped to peer down at Harry with his black, beady eyes, sallow skin paler than normal.

Harry ground his teeth before answering. "We were asked to come here—"

"Oh, I beg to differ," Snape interrupted. "_You_ were asked to come, and an extraneous Weasley barged in with some romantic idea of protecting you from all the Dark Wizards in your path."

"Not all of them," Harry said quietly.

Snape raised one eyebrow before stepping aside, making way for another pale figure—Draco. The tall boy looked somewhat discomfited, his gaze flitting around the hallway nervously before settling on Harry.

"I need to talk to you, Potter," his eyes were unusually direct and emotionless.

"Got your wand back, Draco?" Ron grinned at him, fingering his own wand in front of him. It wasn't pointed at the Slytherin—yet.

"Yes," Draco snapped, pulling his long wand out as proof, but keeping it in a neutral position.

"Did we miss the hearing?" Harry asked confusedly, looking from one to the other and arching his right wrist in case Snape made a move for his wand. His left arm was still in the damn sling, but that would make them think he was easy prey . . .

"Professor Dumbledore was called away," Snape sniped out, "by the Wizengamot. It appears there is some question of how to handle Gregory Goyle's actions."

"I'll bet," Ron muttered, watching Draco suspiciously.

Snape scowled at him. "That, Mr. Weasley, is none of you affair. Professor Dumbledore handed down a quick decision in Draco's behalf, setting him a month of detention with Minerva and myself, the schedule of which we will work out. You," and here he smiled malevolently at Harry, "are to serve the first week _with_ Draco in my classroom. If you would care to walk this way."

Harry stood his ground. "I think I'll wait until Professor McGonagall gives me that information."

"As you wish," Snape retorted. "Draco, come."

Draco turned his head to look at Snape and something passed between them, though Harry couldn't see any sign of it on Draco's face.

"Very well. Perhaps we'll begin the detention tomorrow evening," Snape said in a silky voice, his gaze lingering on Harry. "After you've spoken with Minerva." Then he whipped about and stalked away into the shadows lining the hallway.

Ron was standing with his mouth wide open. "Did he just—did he just change his detention schedule for you, Harry?"

Draco huffed out a loud breath. "No, you fool, of course not. Professor Snape changed it so that I could talk with Potter tonight."

Ron blinked, then stared at Harry. "That doesn't make any sense, either. Does it, Harry?"

Harry agreed, turning back to Draco. "What's going on between the two of you? Why was he willing to cover you arse this morning when you attacked me? Have you got something over him? Blackmail—is that it?"

Draco stood there a moment, smirking. Then the smirk disappeared behind a smile and—he laughed.

Ron fell back a step, mouth agape. He jerked his wand up in front of him. "Who are you? Come on—come on, we know you're not Draco. Harry, move out of the way!"

"There's no need," Harry shot back. "Draco may have lost his mind, but it's really him."

"Yeah? Well, forgive me if I don't trust your instincts on this one," Ron groused, edging up beside Harry. "You haven't got the best track record for knowing a Polyjuiced person when you see one."

"It's him, Ron, and you're only amusing him." Indeed, Draco's smile had grown bigger, but it faded as Harry spoke to him. "You wanted to talk?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter. It's more of a 'need' than a 'want.'"

"Fine. Room of Requirement? I believe you know where that is." Harry led the way and Draco and Ron fell in beside him, Ron's wand trained on Draco every second. Draco ignored him.

"You're not still holding a grudge about that, Potter? About Umbridge? You know I had to report you," he said calmly. "Couldn't let you get away with _everything_."

"Oh, stop trying to justify yourself, ferret," Ron snapped.

"I was not talking to you, Weasel. Why don't you go back and get one of your surely more competent brothers to babysit the Boy-Who-Lived? You wouldn't want it to get back to them that you let Potter have a secret meeting with me, would you?"

Ron turned white beneath his freckles and Harry jumped to hold him back. "Brilliant, Draco! If you want to talk to me, stop antagonizing my friends" he huffed while straining against Ron. "Otherwise, I'm going back to the Common Room."

"Fine," Draco spat out, "I'll leave you to control your pet."

Ron roared something intelligible and Harry had all he could to stop him from going after Draco and pounding him into the stone floor. Draco, however, had wandered off down the hallway, unconcerned. "You know where I'll be."

"Ron, get hold of yourself!" Harry grunted as Ron shoved him back several steps, his body as rigid and tough as seasoned steel. "This isn't helping!"

Just as Harry was about to give up, Ron suddenly wilted, looking confused. "Wait—where did he go?"

"Room of Requirement," Harry panted, glad to catch his breath.

"He can't go there," Ron stared down at Harry. "That's where Grawp is."

"Grawp?" Harry said bewilderedly. He vaguely remembered something about Hagrid wanting them to help hide Grawp, but he'd forgotten about it entirely.

A slow grin spread over Ron's face. "Yeah. Hermione Transfigured him into a teapot and we moved it in there before Transfiguring him back."

"A teapot?"

"Well, it was a big teapot. Took me and Bill ages to get it up there, hiding whenever someone came near. The Marauder's Map is dead useful some times, you know?"

"Yeah. So, then, Draco won't be able to get in, right?"

"We locked it up tight. No problem."

"_AHHHHHHHHHHH!"_ A shrill scream from up ahead shattered the calm.

Harry and Ron exchanged a quick look, and then they were off, Ron grinning the whole way.

"This is the _stupidest_ idea you've ever had, Potter," Draco said as he closed the Prefects' bathroom door behind him ten minutes later, "and that's really saying something." His hair was still slightly mussed from his narrow escape from Grawp. "But at least no one saw us. Who knows what they would have thought?"

Ron barked out a laugh. "That's your look-out, ferret-boy," Ron said with a wicked grin. "I'm a Weasley and he's the Boy-Who-Lived. We're not the ones they'll wonder about."

Draco glared. "Then let's do this quickly. Weasley—go away."

Ron began to protest hotly, but Harry stopped him. "Just go over there by the bath. You can watch us, but you don't have to listen."

"What if I _need_ to listen?"

"You don't."

Ron looked back and forth between Harry and Draco, shaking his head. Then he focused one last dead-earnest glare at Draco. "I'll have my wand on you the whole time."

"Fabulous. Now, leave," Draco said without expression.

Ron gave Harry a last questioning look. When he nodded, Ron backed away, keeping Draco in his sights. He settled over at the far end of the pool-sized bath.

"Turn them on," Draco ordered him. Ron hesitated. "Turn them ON!" Draco shouted, face flushed in anger. Ron grimly reached down to turn on a few faucets. As the different colored foams poured into the bath, Harry turned back to Draco, wand out.

Draco froze. "Why do you have your wand trained on me?"

Harry leveled his gaze at him. "I don't trust you, either. Toss your wand over there by the towels, where we can all see it," Harry indicated where with a point of his wand.

Draco huffed out a breath, stalked over to the towels and threw his wand down with a clatter. "There? Satisfied?"

Harry smiled, completely comfortable with a temper-tantrum-throwing Draco. "Of course."

"Now you," Draco indicated Harry's wand with a look. Harry slipped his wand back into the holster and his right arm out of the sling. He needed to be ready, no matter what. There was a short silence while Harry used his Sensing skills to reach out around him, probing the air for any magical signatures. As far as he could tell, there were no magical objects around except Draco's wand and the mermaid portrait on the wall. It seemed safe enough to talk. When Harry tuned back in, Draco was looking away, his countenance dark. His face was tense, as if his thoughts were sharp and painful. Eventually, he spoke, "Things are not going well."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You mean, you've noticed that, too?" Draco simply nodded, ignoring Harry's sarcasm. Harry decided to try again. "Things looked like they were going pretty well for you, at least until you decided to hex me in front of the entire school."

"Necessary, I assure you. And yes, things are better with the Slytherins, but it took me far longer than I expected, thanks to Daddy dearest," Draco said with a bitter smile. "The stakes have been raised substantially. I only hope it's not too late for you."

Harry shook his head. "Would you stop being so melodramatic and explain what in the bloody hell you're talking about?"

Draco paused, tilting his head to the side. "You think I'm melodramatic?"

"Yes. Excessively."

Draco's nostrils flared. "I assure you, my life is cause enough for pain and bitterness. You have seen only a fraction of the whole story."

"Oh, yes," Harry said in a stilted voice, 'I can see now that you are not melodramatic, Draco. Thank you for pointing that out to—"

And then there was a split-second when Harry knew Draco's fist was coming towards his face. He paused, decided not to draw his wand, and jerked to the side. Draco's swing missed and he ended up on the floor in a tangle of knees and elbows, hissing in pain as he impacted on the marble floor.

Harry looked over to see Ron, standing with his wand raised. "I'm fine." He waved Ron away. Ron scowled.

Draco cursed, then looked up in surprise when Harry offered his hand. He didn't take it. "You know what my father's capable of. You've been there." Harry stopped breathing, his chest suddenly too tight to get air in. "You think life with him was all fun and games? You think that cane of his is just decorative?" Harry turned away, forcing air in his lungs. He shouldn't let Draco get to him. He had to be stronger than this.

"So you want me to feel sorry for you? Is that was this little meeting is all about?" Harry turned back, watching Draco stand painfully to his feet. "Well, good news: I've always felt sorry for you."

Draco stood straight, his face as pale as Harry had ever seen it. A sneer slowly transformed his features. When he spoke, it was in a strangled voice. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? And then maybe, if I speak slowly and in small words, you'll understand why you need my help."

Help? Harry shook his head, disgusted. "I don't need your—"

Draco broke in, ignoring him, "Well, this summer was an eventful one in Hell Manor. While my father was out proving himself to be the greatest wanker of all-time—cutting me off without a trace, poisoning my contacts, turning Mum against me—the other Death Eater mums and dads were coordinating a plan—a big plan: seven attempts to kill the Boy-Who-Lived during the school year, using their own flesh and blood as the assassins." Draco was pacing now, gesturing elegantly, his voice a bitter mix of sarcasm and venom. Although this wasn't completely new information to Harry, still his blood was chilled. "They were dedicated in a barbaric ceremony of which I will spare you the details, and returned to Hogwarts with the sheen of evil glittering on them. And, of course, Daddy's warnings echoing in their ears not to trust me. They believed him."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to loosen his constricted chest. "So you're saying you hexed me today in order to persuade them—"

"That I'm no fanboy of yours, yes. And it appears to be working."

"_I_ was convinced."

Draco smirked. "Of course."

"I'm still convinced."

"Well, perhaps I didn't have to pretend so very much," Draco admitted.

Harry nodded, his mind ticking through the information at high speed. "But this plan—Tom can't seriously have thought Sixth Years would succeed, not here at Hogwarts."

Draco crossed his arms. "Why is it you bristle so much when Severus calls you arrogant? The most powerful evil warlock in hundreds of years wants you dead and you're talking about his schemes as if they were a fantasy. I assure you, nothing carries more weight in Slytherin than currying the Dark Lord's favor," he said with bright eyes, "and nothing guarantees that favor more quickly that contributing to your pain, distress or death. You _must_ take this more seriously."

Harry clenched his hands and felt the tight band of his universal antidote against his left bicep. "Well, forgive me if I don't quiver with fear every time Tom's name is mentioned," Harry spat. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm trying to live my life in between death attempts. It's not easy, but it's better than curling up in a corner somewhere." Harry had had enough. "Is this all you have to say? 'I've got it rough; feel sorry for me; watch your own arse'? I have better things to do, you know." Harry was already moving toward the door when Draco's next words arrested him.

"Goyle is dead, you know," Draco said conversationally. "His parents are trying to cover it up. Someone will probably Polyjuice him at the Wizengamot trial—whatever it takes to keep the school from finding out. But the rest of the Seven Deadly Slytherins know already. They wanted you dead before; now they _need_ you dead or they will die." Harry's face screwed up in something like pain; he hated the position those kids were in—but he hated _them_, too—for dealing with Tom, and for so casually committing to kill him. Draco paused a moment, as if he was waiting for Harry to speak, then went on.

"I don't know that The Dark Lord really intend them to succeed. He might only have wished to make your year here as difficult as possible, and to make an example out of those students who failed, or maybe to punish their parents for some wrong they've committed against him." Draco said all of this casually, walking over to the stone wall and running a finger over the carved scrollwork. "I'm not certain which it is. But now that two of them have been . . . punished for their failure, the rest are far more motivated to succeed." Draco turned back around, locking eyes with Harry. "They will be coming at you with everything they have now, for survival if nothing else."

Harry swallowed. "Five more, then?"

"Yes."

"Crabbe?"

"Yes."

"Zabini?"

"Yes—and Bulstrode, Nott and Hughes." Draco reeled them off like a Quidditch team line-up. Crabbe was not a surprise to Harry at all, nor Nott, really. But Milicent? And that fifth year—Rawley Hughes? He barely even knew the boy.

"That's why I'm here," Draco said softly, staring out at the pool now. "You'll never make it without my help."

Harry took a deep breath. "I've made it this far."

"Yes, and if the Prophecy is right—" Harry jerked his head over to stare at Draco "—then they won't succeed. However, you don't really want to find out how much pain you can endure without dying, do you? And the Prophecy says nothing about someone else dying in your place—a bodyguard, or a friend who jumps in the way at the wrong time." A chill ran down Harry's spine. "You need to know as much as you can about what they're planning, and I'm the only one close enough on the inside to get the information to you."

Harry frowned, tossing out the idea of Zimmy Twitchtie's offer to spy as soon as it came to mind. There weren't any other options left. And no matter what Harry pretended, the episodes with Pansy and Goyle had been horrifying enough in and of themselves. He had no desire to repeat them or any part of them, especially since he might be risking his friends as well as himself. But could he trust Draco not to be setting him up? He couldn't—there was too much on the line.

Harry jerked his wrist, wand in hand. As he raised it, Draco's eyes widened.

"What are you—"

"_Legilimens!"_

Sobbing girls were running to Draco as he walked in the Slytherin Common Room. "He's dead, Draco! Dead!" Crabbe was in a heap in front of the fireplace, motionless, tears rolling down his face. "They killed Gregory! What are we going to do?" Draco stood frozen, a girl pressed against his chest on either side, stunned.

"_Crucio!"_ The memory of Lucius, wand out, pain spiraling through Draco's senses made Harry nauseous. "No son of mine is a traitor!" Dark shapes crowded closer, hands reached out and grabbed him, punching, kicking all around. This scene was so familiar that it could have been Harry's own memory—the pain, the torture.

"Mum?" Now Harry was seeing the opulent interior of Malfoy Manor, the dark, oak-lined dining room. Narcissa was sitting at the table, pale as a ghost, a broken teacup on the table in front of her. "What is it?" Draco looked young and scared. "Where is father?"

Narcissa answered faintly, "He's been Summoned. Again."

Draco was trying valiantly not to cry, a desperate smile sprang up on his face. "That's good, right?"

"Of course, Draco," his mother said tonelessly. "Run along and play now."

Draco turned away, misery and fear etched on his face.

Then Harry was seeing a younger Draco, skinny and awkward, sobbing, falling on his knees in front of his father. His bare back was bloodied with sharp, thin cuts. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Muggles are horrible, Daddy!" His voice went high and thin with hysteria. "I know they are! I won't speak to them again, Daddy! I swear it!" Lucius' face was impassive and calm. A bloodied riding crop was in his hand.

Harry jerked his wand down, ending the spell before he could see anything else. The white marble of the Prefects' bathroom came into focus around him slowly. He sought out Draco and found him looking as shaken and horrified as Harry felt. But there was also a grim resolve about it, as if it was exactly what he'd expected Harry to do. Harry wanted to apologize, to explain that he had wanted to see proof that Draco was trustworthy, not invade his most humiliating memories, but his mouth was dry as dust. No words would come out.

Draco took a few deep breaths and walked shakily over to his wand, tucking it away in his robes. Then he turned to Harry. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now, Prophecy or no. But I'm on your side and I am putting my life at risk to help you. I have no life left if the Dark Lord wins." He took a deep breath. "I believe Crabbe will be next. I'll let you know as much as I can, as soon as he confides in me."

"What do I do 'til then?" Harry said quietly as Draco headed toward the door.

"Be a saint," he called back over his shoulder. "They've each chosen to align themselves with a deadly sin: lust, anger, greed, envy, pride, etc." He turned back to Harry. "Shouldn't be too hard for you to avoid, Saint Potter." He smirked, then walked out, slamming the door behind him.

"Bloody hell, what did you see, Harry?" Ron asked, walking over slowly.

"I guess you heard the whole thing?"

"Yeah," Ron said sheepishly. "I had the Extendable Ears 'cause I thought they'd come in handy during that meeting, with you inside and me jonesing out in the corridor. You don't . . . you don't trust him, do you?"

Harry sighed. "The problem is . . . I do. And I don't think I have a choice, anyway."

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

Author's note:

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all! Thanks so much for sticking with this story and for giving me time. You are who I'm writing for! And so much thanks to Melindaleo and Musings for all their help! You guys always give me time.

Love, love, hugs, hugs.


	21. A Triad of Trouble

Chapter Twenty: A Triad of Trouble

Professor McGonagall was not able to get Harry out of the four days of detention with Draco that were set by Snape, which made Harry's first full week back in school less than ideal. However, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Professor Snape, of course, was not the reason that detention was more palatable than expected. He was his usual caustic self and set Harry the grossest and most time-consuming tasks possible. But Harry had developed a rather thick skin when it came to disgusting potion ingredient preparation, and not even the rotting fish eyes could give Snape the pleasure of seeing him gag.

What actually made the detentions more pleasant was Draco's behavior.

It wasn't that the Slytherin went out of his way to be kind, or to help with those horrible chores. That would have been more disconcerting than pleasant, anyway. But Draco didn't needle Harry or rub it in when Snape gave the Slytherin some posh job like polishing cauldrons instead of separating usable dragon dung from dragon dung compromised by other animal dung. In fact, Draco said nothing to Harry, which was confusing. If Draco trusted Snape, then he should be giving Harry information about the Seven Deadly Slytherins now, right? If Draco didn't trust Snape, which would be the shock of the century, then why wasn't he bothering to rib Harry relentlessly? That had always gone over well with Snape in the past.

"That's enough, Potter. Clean up and go back to your dormitory," Professor Snape snapped from the doorway. "Some of us have better things to do with our time than fawning over you."

Harry didn't bother to comment. His mood was black tonight because he'd missed _another_ Quidditch practice, bringing the total to two for this week. He didn't expect Katie to have much more patience with him. She'd been an absolute angel compared to Angelina, which was why Harry wasn't risking another word to Snape. He was not going to miss Saturday's practice, no matter what.

He cleaned himself up, passed by Draco without comment and headed out the door. This was the final detention and he was thankful to be getting out at ten o'clock.

"Oi, mate," Ron said as he clambered to his feet, his face bright with hope. "Are you done already?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, a sudden yawn breaking out. "Git couldn't find any more rancid frog spawn for me to strain. How was practice?"

"Better than most. I actually had a difficult time keeping the Quaffle out of the goal today. I mean, sure, it could have been because I stink, but I think it was mostly because the Chasers are finally coming together," Ron said hopefully as they started up the stairs.

"So who was here while you were at practice?"

"Fred. George came out and gave the Beaters some tips. I don't think they liked that much."

Harry was about to ask about Ginny's performance when light footsteps came from the ascending stairs in front of them. Ron jerked out his wand; Harry tensed his right hand. Then petite feet appeared and Ginny came down into view, breaking into a smile as soon as she saw Harry.

"You're out early," she said brightly. "I was just coming to relieve Ron."

"Relieve me? What in the bloody hell are you up to?" Ron said incredulously, looking her up and down.

"Well, I certainly don't mean taking a piss for you," Ginny snapped. "I'm taking your place. Now, go take a shower. You reek."

"No. I don't want to leave you alone with Harry," Ron protested with wide eyes. "What if something happened? Do you have any idea what Mum would do to me?"

"That's your look out. Fred's already said I could. Now shut it and hold out your wrist," she commanded.

"No." Ron shook his head vigorously. "I'm not doin' it."

Ginny drew her wand and pointed it at him. "Do you think I can't work this properly," she bit out the words at him. "Did I miss the duel where you proved that you're faster, more powerful and better suited to guarding Harry than I am? Because last time I checked—"

"Look, Ron," Harry jumped in quickly before things got nasty, "you're assuming that I'll need protection when I really don't. I mean, it's nice that you and your—"

"—Shut it, Harry," Ginny and Ron chorused in similarly aggravated tones, glaring at him.

"—And yes, okay, Gin," Ron jumped in, "you might be able to take care of yourself in most circumstances, but this is different—"

"—_No it's not!"_ Ginny yelled, putting both hands on her hips, anger flaming her cheeks. "I care _just_ as much—"

"—because you won't be paying attention," Ron finished stubbornly. "You'll be hiding out somewhere, snogging or . . . oh, god, don't make me go there. You know what you'll be doing."

Harry tried not to look at Ginny as a rush of heat to his face confessed the very thing he hoped for but would protest with every fiber of his being to Ron's face, should it be needed. Ginny was fresh from the shower—her hair still damp and the smell the soap wafting invitingly toward Harry. She was too busy to notice Harry's silence.

"Yes, and I also know what you and Hermione will be doing whenever you two get alone, which might be very difficult to do if your sister is as pissed off as she is right now," Ginny said quite convincingly. "You _need_ to go shower up, Ron; Harry and I need some time alone. Why don't we kill two birds with one stone? I'll walk Harry back. He'll be safe, I promise."

Ron looked back and forth between them. Harry did his utmost to look angelic and completely disconnected from the heightening senses in his body. Ginny wanted to snog him. She was _planning_ on it. Harry swallowed, his mouth suddenly parched.

"So Fred sent you? He thought this was a good idea?"

"Yes," Ginny said calmly. "He seemed to think it would be good for Harry."

_Oh yeah,_ Harry agreed silently. _Very, very good._

Ron huffed out a long breath and turned to Harry. "And you're okay with this? I mean, with me leaving? I could just stay around the corner or something, so you could shout."

"No. She's right; Ginny can handle whatever anyone throws at her." Harry's eyes met hers and felt an electric thrill pulse through his blood. If Ron wouldn't leave, Harry might have to do something desperate . . .

"Fine. But I don't like it. And if Bill or—God help me—Mum lays into me for this, I'm sending 'em your way, not that it will help," Ron threatened, pointing at Ginny. "I'm going to go get that stone of Harry's and keep an eye on it. Bloody hell," he sighed, "I've probably just bartered my life away."

"It will be worth it when you get to spend time with Hermione. Now. Go shower and find her. You're foul." Ginny waved Ron away imperiously.

"Yes, sir. See you in the dorm later, Harry. Not too late, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said lightly, his eyes still on Ginny.

Ron scowled and held up a fist. Harry blinked in surprise. Ginny stepped forward and wrapped her small fingers around Ron's wrist.

"_Fraterdum Singletus,"_ she whispered. There was a slight silvery glow down Ron's arm and onto Ginny's hand. Ron and Ginny locked eyes a long moment, which reminded Harry how much this mysterious spell bothered him. Finally, Ron nodded and Ginny released his wrist.

Ron flicked his eyes to Harry and then turned to go.

"See you back in the dorm, Ron. We'll be fine," Harry called after him.

Ron waved without looking back.

Harry held out a hand and Ginny laid her hand in it, smiling up at him. Harry pulled her closer. "So. What does that mean, anyway, that spell?"

Ginny smiled up at him. "Family secret, Harry. It just means that you're safe with us."

Harry wanted to contemplate the meaning of what she said, but the heat of her body was clouding his mind. They weren't safe here, he knew that—this was no place to let down his guard. So Harry grabbed her hand again and led the way up the stairs.

Up on the third floor, having dodged Peeves successfully and rather breathlessly, Harry and Ginny spilled into a classroom, snickers and giggles coming fast. Peeves had been imitating the Gray Lady, floating in an hourglass shape and with an imperious but nobly sad look on his face.

Harry turned to watch Ginny giggle, holding one hand over her mouth to stifle the noise. He loved how easily he laughed with her, and how she made him feel like life was full. And God—was she beautiful. The moonlight was bathing her face in a soft, blue glow, the shadows making her eyes dark and mysterious and her hair almost black. He looked down, trying to calm the beating of his heart, which for some reason was pounding like he had run into that Manticore again.

Then Ginny slid closer to his side, leaning back against the wall as he was. The stone was cool through his robes and shirt, and where she nestled against him felt warm. Harry hesitated before putting his arm around her. Hadn't she told Ron that she wanted to snog him? Or at least not denied it? It wasn't their first kiss. It wasn't like—

She turned and moved in suddenly, her face just below his, her body pressed against his. Harry could barely breathe. He closed his eyes, bent his head and eased his lips slowly, softly into hers. She gave a sweet sigh—the moment before oblivion took Harry's mind away. Then the rhythm of their movements and the heat generated by their bodies took him to another place; somewhere there was no Prophecy, no Voldemort, no need to do anything but feel.

The need for more finally drove into him like a spear in his side, and he gasped, pulling away from her. It was that nausea again—that awful feeling . . .

"Harry?" Ginny was still touching him, but it felt like she was far away. The rapture had melted like a daydream. He turned and stepped away from Ginny, his gut clenching in frustration. With a guttural cry, he drove his fist into the stone wall, feeling the pain bitterly.

"Harry!" Then Ginny had grabbed him, thrown her arms around him and pressed herself back into his chest. "It's all right. It's just me. Whatever it is—just breathe deep until you're past it. Damn your secrets."

He tried to breathe deep, but his chest caught on every inhalation. His body was fighting him. It had something to do with him—with Lucius. The name hit him like a blow and he bent forward, his face buried in Ginny's hair now. The fragrance of it—trapped sunshine and strawberries—filled him as he pulled in a deeper breath. This was now—_she_ was now. Whatever had happened then was past. It wouldn't happen again, and he wouldn't let it rule his life—dammit!

He clutched at her, and with a desperate look and a murmur of her name, warned her just before he slanted his mouth over hers. He could taste rapture, could feel it and it pushed out all memory.

Then she slipped her tongue into his mouth, and Harry jumped. His body didn't know what to do. Hot flashes radiated through him; a shiver followed from head to toe. Urgent need suddenly colored their kisses and Harry began to feel out of control, riding a hot, new flood of desire. Just as he started to realize that as much as he needed to stop, he didn't think he could, Ginny pulled away.

Harry took a desperately needed breath and shook his head to clear it. He wasn't even sure what day it was, or how long they'd been here. Glancing up at Ginny, he was alarmed to see her trembling. He reached out for her arm just as her knees gave way. He held her arm, then both her arms, finally sitting down with her awkwardly as she kept going down. She was in his lap, trembling, her shoulders hunched, her gaze fixed on the floor.

"Ginny?"

She looked up and Harry was shocked to see enormous tears in her eyes.

"Ginny, what is it? Did I—what did I—I'm sorry. Did I—"

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay. I've . . . just never been kissed like that before." There was a tremulous smile on her face even as the tears grew larger. She swiped at her eyes, laughing shakily.

Harry wanted to ask her what she meant, but words refused to come.

She looked back over at him and reached out to grab his hand. "It's not a bad thing, Harry, for a bloke to kiss a girl so well she nearly faints."

He blinked. "It's not?"

"No, not at all. It's just . . . it made my knees feel that weak."

But she looked so shaken and so un-Ginnylike that Harry was still concerned. "Are you sure that's all it was? I didn't . . . are you sure?"

"Very sure." This time, she leaned forward and looked Harry directly in the eyes, assurance emanating from her gaze. "It was the best kiss I've ever had. I think that was the problem."

Harry smiled, feeling heat prickle up the sides of his face. Then his hand began nagging at him. "Ouch," he murmured, looking down at it in surprise.

Ginny giggled. "Now you've done it." Harry looked up ruefully. "What will Madame Pomfrey say when she finds out you've been punching walls? I just hope she hasn't gotten rid of that sling yet."

Harry groaned.

When Harry returned back to the dorm, Ron wasn't there. Neville and Seamus were giving him such knowing glances that Harry knew they'd badgered Ron into telling who had been guarding him. At least Dean wasn't there. Harry pulled off his robes and threw open his trunk. Dean had taken to giving him dark looks lately whenever girls were mentioned, but especially when Ginny's name came up. Harry shook his head and pulled his pajama top on. As if his life wasn't complicated enough. He wished Dean would just take a swing at him and get it over with.

It wasn't until he was in bed that he remembered Dobby. Where had that House Elf Ghost got to? He hadn't reported in the last three nights. Not that his reports were all that helpful. Draco had finally gotten the other Slytherins to open up, apparently, and was, according to the elf, constantly plotting Harry's death. But, since Harry knew that Draco was claiming to spy on the Slytherins rather than joining in, he didn't take these reports in at face value. It was disturbing to hear, nonetheless, and Harry was always a little glad if Dobby didn't turn up every night.

But three nights?

Harry waited until after Ron and Dean showed up for bed, the former smiling rather absent-mindedly, the latter ignoring Harry. Once his dormmates were all in bed and their rhythmic breathing and/or snoring began, Harry whispered, "Dobby?"

It took two full minutes for the House Elf to show up, something that was also a bit unusual.

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir?" squeaked Dobby as soon as he showed up, as gray and insubstantial as always.

"Do you have any more news on Draco's doings?"

"Oh, no, Harry Potter, sir," he shook his head unhappily. "Dobby is a bad House Elf, sir. If Dobby could crack his head on the mantle, Dobby would, sir."

"Yes, I'm convinced you would, but not sorry at all that you can't," Harry said with a slight smile. "Where have you been?"

"Dobby is keeping Winky company and guarding her from the bad House Elves."

Harry was taken aback, and felt a momentary pang of guilt. He had meant to visit the elves in the kitchen, but had only managed it once. "What bad House Elves?"

"They is not happy that Winky is pushing for freedom from the Hogwarts master. They is wanting her to be a good House Elf and work for free and stop being so loyal to Dobby."

"But they were all for it last time I was down there," said Harry, consternated. "I don't remember anyone being against Winky."

"Oh, yes sir, Harry Potter, sir, they all says they is for Winky, but then bad things happen when poor Winky is alone. At first, Winky is thinking it was accidents, but now she is thinking they is not."

"What sort of bad things?"

Dobby tugged at his ears. "Oh, Dobby is keeping her company and warning her of all the things falling—cauldrons, hot irons, steak knives. But there is so many and Dobby cannot watch all the time."

"You can't see who's doing it? But you're a ghost."

"Dobby can't see," Dobby wailed from behind his transparently-gray, knobbly hands. "Dobby doesn't know."

"Does Dumbledore know about this?"

"Winky is not wanting Dobby to bother the Headmaster," Dobby said, looking up with a sniff, "but Dobby is warning the Headmaster, anyway."

"Good. And I'm sure Winky will be fine. She can do pretty powerful House Elf Magic, can't she?"

Dobby seemed convinced that the Headmaster would take care of it and left after promising to check in on Draco at odd times, especially whenever the boy's schedule was free. Harry was dying to know what he and Snape said to each other whenever they were alone.

Once the House Elf was gone, Harry settled back in bed. His mind once again turned to the puzzle of Draco, and shifted the ill-fitting pieces around until he gave up and fell into a quiet rest.

The next morning at breakfast, three unusual things happened. First, Hermione appeared at the table with a secret alight in her shining eyes, fairly bursting to talk.

"What is it?" Harry asked right away.

"I just got a note from Professor Dumbledore and he wants me to meet him in his office tonight." She turned to Ron. "And you know what that means, don't you?"

"Uh . . ." Ron said, gaze darting about the room as if searching desperately for a clue in their surroundings, "you're going to be Head Girl next year?"

"Nice try," Hermione smirked and then turned to Harry. "It means he's ready to look at my research."

"Research?"

Hermione leaned in closer. "Remember, I'm the Official Researcher for the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Oh," Harry said blankly, wondering how he could have forgotten that detail. "I reckoned that was . . ."

Hermione speared him with a look. "An empty title? Shows how much you know. I've been doing research every chance I could, which, admittedly hasn't been much lately. But while you were in the Infirmary in that coma, I got a fair amount done."

"Oh yeah, she did a lot of work then," Ron nodded, anxious to get himself in the clear, "outdid herself."

"Well, no one knew when you were going to wake up, Harry, or _if_ you were going to. I had to have something to focus on or I'd have ended up barking mad."

"Almost did," Ron supplied over-helpfully. Ginny giggled.

Hermione paused to look at their tablemates, all of whom seemed busily talking about other things. She lowered her voice. "Anyway, I was looking up that _Priori Incantatem_ spell that you mentioned this summer. There wasn't much in the library, even in the Restricted Section—" here Hermione interrupted herself to answer Harry's shocked look—"which we _are_ able to access now that we're Sixth Years—but what I did find looks promising. I gave Dumbledore a report a few weeks back and I didn't know if he had looked at them or not. But," she added with a hopeful smile, "I think he's had a chance now and we'll find out if _that's_ how you can kill Voldemort, Harry."

Harry nodded, immediately sobered as he was anytime the inevitable was mentioned. Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance and fell silent as well. Being Prophesied to end the reign of a dark and terrible Wizard was a definite conversation-killer.

"You know, I think you and I need to have a talk," Ginny said shrewdly from beside him. Harry couldn't look away from those piercing eyes soon enough. He hadn't told her about the Prophecy yet. He didn't want to. He was putting it off as long as possible, for many different reasons.

As Harry avoided Ginny's eyes, he noticed Katie Bell and Cho Chang talking to Professor McGonagall, who was nodding resignedly. Then his gaze was drawn over to the Slytherin table, two Seventh Years were sitting in Draco's usual spot, looking intent upon their conversation. Glancing over the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, he saw several more students clumping up to talk—all Seventh Years.

"What's going on with the Seventh Years?" Harry asked, nodding toward the Gryffindors.

"Oh, the N.E.W.T.S. Transfiguration Practicum is next week," Hermione said with dismissal. "You'd think it was the end of the world the way they're acting."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Tell Harry why you're being so pissy about it."

"Ron! I'm not pissy about it!" Hermione thwacked him in the arm.

"Ouch!"

"It's just that they won't tell me anything; like it's some great secret or something."

"Well, maybe it is," Ginny spoke up reasonably. Hermione huffed out an exasperated breath. "Here comes Katie now. Why don't you ask her?" Hermione shot Ginny a curious look, but Ginny just smiled angelically. Harry wanted to investigate that smile, but Katie had just stepped up to their table, looking a bit harried.

"Harry, Ron," she began before anyone could speak, "I have to cancel all Quidditch practices next week except for Saturday's. Terribly sorry and all that—can't be helped."

"But we've _just_ gotten Harry back—" Ron began loudly.

"We'll be fine, Ron," Ginny cut in.

"Fine?" Ron yelped. "Our Chasers are weeks behind in their speed drills; the Beaters are dropping Quaffles all over the place—"

Harry stared at Ron. "I thought you said they had good practices this week."

"Well, yeah," Ron said quickly, "but that doesn't mean we can just slough off a week and expect to win any matches at all—"

"I know that, but as it can't be helped—" Katie began again.

"Yes it can!" Ron stood up, creating a flurry of movement as Ginny, Hermione and Harry all reached to pull him back down. "Don't call off the practices! Simple as that!"

"I _have_ to!" Katie raised her voice to the level of Ron's, surprising everyone and calling attention from every table. "This is my N.E.W.T. year and what I do for the rest of my life depends on the outcome. I have to do this!"

"No—what you have to do is sacrifice for the team!" Ron pounded his hand on the table, drawing even more stares. "What kind of captain are you? You let everyone goof off. You let Harry miss practices all the time—"

"Hey!"

"Ron! Shut it!"

"You're too nice! You don't _yell_ at anyone—"

"Fine! NOW I'M YELLING!" Katie roared, and pushed Harry out of the way so she could stand on the bench. "CAN EVERYBODY HEAR ME?" There were stunned nods from around the table. "GOOD. BECAUSE I QUIT!" Fuming through her tears, Katie stepped down and stomped away, ignoring as best she could the applause and cheers of the Slytherins. Several of her friends hurried after her.

"Katie!"

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron stared after her, horrified.

"RON!" Half the table chorused at once.

"What?" He looked around, wide-eyed.

Harry pulled him back into his seat. "You have some major apologizing to do, mate."

"Not just apologizin'," Seamus added severely. "Some very thorough butt-kissing is required, I reckon."

"That was _not_ very nice, Ron," Neville said firmly.

Ron slumped in his seat. "I didn't mean to make her quit. I just thought—I mean, has she gone mad, or has McGonagall, letting her call 'em off like that?"

A few debates broke out on the subject around the table, but Ginny broke in over all the noise.

"Katie's been ready to blow for weeks and McGonagall was probably trying to help her keep her mind on her studies. I imagine she was expecting us to practice just the same without Katie. But now that we've lost our captain," Ginny said with a scathing look at Ron, "it looks as if we'll be doing that the rest of the year."

"I'll apologize," Ron said morosely. "She'll come back. Right?"

"If you grovel enough," Ginny admitted, "but not until after she finishes her Transfiguration Project."

Ron and Harry exchanged a glance. "What Transfiguration Project?" they asked together, Hermione loudly joining in.

"Oh no, look at the time," Ginny said. "I'd better get to class." And with a smug smile, she gathered her things. As she bent over to kiss Harry's cheek, she whispered in his ear. "Since we can't go to Hogsmeade, they're bringing Hogsmeade to us." At his puzzled look, she just smiled.

"How does she know about this and I don't?" Hermione demanded from Ron. "Who told her?" They stared at each other for a moment, then both broke out, "Fred and George!"

Harry just shrugged, keeping Ginny's secret for her. But what could she have meant about bringing Hogsmeade to Hogwarts? It did make sense that Dumbledore might have decided not to allow the students to travel to Hogsmeade this year, with all the trouble they'd had so far with Dobby's death, Pansy's attempt on Harry's life and her death, then Goyle's attempt and Charlie's abduction, not to mention Narcissa running about the castle trying to kill her son _and_ Harry. And with five more Slytherins plotting away . . .

Harry looked back over at the Slytherin table, noting again that Draco wasn't there. Blaise was missing as well—and Millicent.

That was when the third unusual thing happened.

A young witch came running up to the Gryffindor table, gasping for breath. When Harry got a full look at her face and short, spiky hair, he recognized her as Violet Hooch. There was only a brief moment for him to recall her hanging about the Quidditch Pitch during practices and to wonder why he'd never seen her in the dorm before she was clutching the shoulder of his robes and spitting out garbled words. Harry was frozen in stunned amazement until Violet finally managed to get two names out—Blaise and Tobias.

"_What?_ Where?" Harry jumped to his feet, barely remembering in time not to whip his wand out in the Grand Hall. When Violet shook her head, eyes squeezed shut, Harry grasped her by the shoulders. "_Tell_ me," he demanded.

Voices all around were chiming in; Ron and Neville had risen.

"Have to tell you. Blaise has Tobias," Violet said slowly, her eyes now open and bright with unshed tears.

"Where?"

She took another deep breath. "Three levels down," she gasped, "just outside . . . the Slytherin dorm."

Harry never heard the last three words as he was already racing for the door, Ron keeping pace beside him. They dodged students and ignored McGonagall's loud call, the furor dying as they reached the hallway and the Grand Hall doors slammed shut behind them. To their surprise, Neville was only one step behind.

"Go back!" Harry ordered.

"No!" Neville yelled back, looking from one to the other. "I want to help!"

"Fine . . . if you can keep up," Harry said in between breaths as they raced on. As they reached the stairwell leading to the dungeon, Neville was slowly being outdistanced by the other two.

"Go on ahead, I'll catch up," he called after them.

Ron and Harry yelled assent just as a clump of students exited the stairs. The sudden appearance of The One—breathless, wand out, face fixed in a rage—caused instant panic. There was a mad scramble to get out of his way and all the lurching, dodging and jumping away from Harry meant that several of the slowest ended up directly into Ron's path. Before he could stop, he took out two students at full speed. They hit the ground in a tangle of arms and legs and foul language.

"_What's the matter with you—?"_

"You've nearly killed Padma!"

"Where's he—?"

"Harry?"

"Bloody hell! Harry—_wait!"_

But Harry shook his head and went on, taking the stairs three at a time. He couldn't stop imagining Tobias in Blaise's clutches again. He'd meant to do something to keep the Slytherin off Tobias' back, but he'd waited too long.

"Hey—remember Sirius," Ron called out over the clamor of voices, his voice echoing to Harry eerily in the stairwell.

The words cut Harry like a knife, but the warning was a good one, nevertheless. This could very easily be a trap. Harry didn't slow down, but quickly, he went over his defensive strategies.

He'd only been down here once before, back in his second year, but he knew from that what to expect. Running full-tilt, he managed to make it down to what surely must be the furthest dungeon level level in only five minutes. Then he slowed, trying to quiet his breathing and listening hard. There were muffled voices ahead, but he couldn't make out the words.

Harry crept silently behind a stone pillar and tapped his wand on the top of his head. He took a few deep, calming breaths. Then Disillusioned, he moved down the final staircase, freezing at the bottom. Ahead, past the blank stone wall that hid the Slytherin Common Room, stood Zimmy Twitchtie, wide-eyed and with wand drawn. She was watching the staircase and whispering something Harry couldn't hear.

What should he do? Tobias trusted her, but then why was she being look-out for Blaise? With regret, Harry stepped closer and sent a silent _Petrificus Totalus_ at her. Just as it hit, he finally understood what she was saying:

"_Please, please oh, please."_

She fell over and Harry managed to reach her before she thudded to the floor. With a whispered apology, he laid her over to one side. She must have been the one who sent Violet. Harry felt a twinge of guilt, but then again, she was probably safer out here anyway.

A cry of pain reached his ears and Harry bolted up like a shot. _Tobias!_

He raced silently down the corridor to the right, through the chill, damp air. With a shiver, Harry gripped his wand tightly and stepped up to the closed door. The voices were coming from inside.

"Say it," Blaise was sneering, "or I'll curse you so badly there will be no future generations of the great family Wafting."

"NO!" Tobias screamed, his voice stretched taut with pain and anger. Outside the door, Harry jerked in a visceral reaction.

_Torture._ Instantly, cold, hard steel replaced the ache in his stomach and fire ran in his veins. He gritted his teeth, stepped back and aimed his wand.

_Reducto!_ he projected against the gray screen that came up instantly in his mind. The door imploded and chaos reigned. Shouts and screams came from within. Harry stepped through the hazy air, his gaze zeroing in on Blaise across the room, whose face had a decidedly greenish tinge.

"Guard the door!" Blaise barked out, wand already trained on the empty air in front of him.

There were two other Slytherins in Harry's periphery, one on each side of the room. The nearest was Draco. _What—?_

"Where is he?" Millicent screeched from somewhere behind. Harry whipped around and aimed at Crabbe, who was eyeing the door nervously.

"Uh . . ." There was naked fear on the larger boy's face.

"No—you clod—he's already inside the room! Go stand right there!" Blaise used his wand to point Crabbe in the right direction. "I want you two to make sure he doesn't leave until I want him to!"

"Any day of the week," Millicent boasted.

"I beg to differ," said a lazy, familiar drawl. Harry jerked back around toward Draco, who was leaning up against a wall, arms crossed, wand pointing down. "He leaves when he wants to. Didn't you learn anything from his little foray into Hell Manor? I'd start talking quickly, if I were you."

"Whose side are you on, Draco?" bellowed Eustrich Bletchley from the far wall. Harry whipped his head around to look the sallow-skinned, hairy ape of a Slytherin over. He was too cowardly to shoot the first curse. Harry kept his wand midway between Blaise and Draco.

"Why, yours, dear, of course," Draco smirked in response. "Why else would I be here?"

"Harry?" Tobias whispered, "it's a trap." Harry couldn't keep from glancing at him and then couldn't look away. The poor boy was shirtless, spread-eagled to the wall, so many red welts crisscrossing his chest that all the skin was swollen and parts of it bloodied. Tears made paths from his despondent, vacant eyes. Harry found himself trembling with rage and started counting to five, forcing his anger under control.

"Oh, I think he knows it's a trap by now," Blaise said, stepping forward cautiously. "What he doesn't know is why."

_Five._ Harry twisted, knelt and screamed a curse at Crabbe that laid him flat on his back.

"HE'S _THERE!_ AIM LOW!" Blaise screamed, and four wands fired from all corners of the room, quartering the room with brilliant red jets of light. They all missed. Harry had felt them as soon as they left their wands—Blaise's Cruciatus, Eustrich's Confundus Charm, Millicent's _Petrificus Totalus_ and Draco's . . . Cheering Charm?—and in the seconds that followed, Harry had leapt up, clearing two curses, arched back to go over a third and flipped over, putting one hand down, to miss the fourth. The result was that the Slytherins had to scatter to avoid the curses as well. In the end, Draco was actually closer to hitting Blaise than Harry.

"Sorry," Draco called out gaily, "thought I saw him over there!"

Blaise climbed to his feet, murder in his eyes. "Use the Color Charm—and find him!" Instantly, Harry knew it must be the charm Narcissa had used to spray paint at him, to foil his Disillusionment Charm.

He crouched and cast _Stupefy!_ against the screen in his mind. Millicent flew back against the wall with a satisfying thud. From the vacant look on her face just before the jet took her, she obviously didn't know the Color Charm.

—which was coming at him right now—

Harry dove for the floor, feeling rather than seeing the jet of red light miss him by inches. Paint splattered with a _SPLOOSH_ against the wall. Harry rolled to avoid a second volley from Eustrich and stopped quick enough to lash back with another silent _Stupefy!_ that hit home. He silently _Scourgify_ed his robes, then cancelled the spell that held Tobias up to the wall. As the boy fell forward, Harry jumped to catch him.

"There you are, you—"

Encumbered by Tobias' limp form, Harry couldn't move fast enough to dodge, but he raised a shield in time. The curse flew back and Blaise had to dodge again.

"I think the word you're looking for is 'bastard," Draco supplied helpfully.

"Will you just curse him, you—" Blaise cut himself off again, then tapped his wand to his head and disappeared.

Harry cursed under his breath. "Sorry, but he'll nail me," he whispered, letting Tobias slip gently to the floor. The boy mumbled something and Harry paused to listen.

A red hiss erupted in his mind—a Sensed Cruciatus coming his way—nearly on him—and he threw himself sideways—

WHAM!

White light flooded his mind and Harry reeled, crumpling backwards onto the floor. He'd smashed into the wall. The side of his face was numb, his shoulder was on fire and Blaise—where was Blaise? Bright lights were popping in front of Harry's eyes; he was completely dazed. He raised his wand anyway, desperately trying to Sense Blaise's signature. _There?_ Harry fired off a silent Bludgeoning Curse, saw it hit a shield and knew he couldn't move fast enough to avoid the next curse. He flattened himself, sucked in his breath and waited, wand ready.

He saw the flash of red in his mind and threw up a shield. The curse still smacked his back against the wall—it was that strong.

"There you are, you—"

It was Blaise, but something had cut him off—a curse from behind, Harry Sensed—and then he was thudding into the wall on Harry's right. He hit the floor and lay still, at least from the sound of it.

Harry looked up to see Ron standing in the doorway, wand aimed at something off to the far right. Harry tipped his head to see Draco, wand aimed back at Ron.

"He never can seem to finish his sentences," the blonde said with a smirk.

"Who?" Ron ground out.

"Why, Zabini, of course. I was aiming at him, you know, not Potter."

"Well, how would I know, since I can't see either one of them!" Ron, still trained on Draco, leaned in the doorway and peered around. "Harry? You all right, mate?"

"Fine. Draco took out Zabini."

"I was going to do that, you know," Ron groused as he stepped over Crabbe's bulk. "Couldn't see a bloody thing, o' course."

Wearily, Harry tapped his wand over his own head and became visible again. He started to sit up and then decided against it. The world tilting that far made his stomach heave.

"Yes, of course," Draco acknowledged, pushing himself off the wall, "there's always some excuse for mediocrity, isn't there? We'll just have to convince Blaise that somehow, a Weasley managed to get the drop on him." He paused. "Then again, there are some things that strain the imagination too far."

Ron, who was ignoring Draco now, walked over to Harry. "You don't look fine. _Why_ in the bloody hell didn't you wait for me?"

"They were torturing him," Harry said, reaching out a hand to Ron. "Help me up." Ron shook his head, but grasped Harry's hand and slowly pulled him up. Harry wavered a bit, putting a hand out on the wall. "Look at him. I couldn't wait."

Ron looked over at Tobias' still form, then walked over to the invisible Blaise, nudged him with a foot and then kicked him—hard. Then he pointed his wand down at him. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't repay the favor."

"Pass," Draco said indifferently.

"You're next!" Ron snarled, wand now aiming at Draco. "Torturing First Years is the sickest—"

"Oh, please," Draco scoffed, "you call that torture? You should have seen what they wanted to do to him. I held them back."

Ron harrumphed. "Oh, right, you didn't really _want_ to torture him. In fact, you wanted to give him a teddy bear and tuck him in bed but they wouldn't let you."

"Believe it or not, I don't care," Draco snapped back. "But you'd better get him out of here before they wake up."

Ron gave Blaise one more kick for good measure. Harry smiled at him grimly. "You'd better carry Tobias."

"One more thing," Draco drawled as he stepped up to them, "if you don't mind, knock me out?"

Ron and Harry exchanged a look.

"Draco," Ron said with a grin, "you just made my day."

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

_A/N: To all my patient, patient readers--you see, I actually haven't given up on this fic! I'm not quite sure why you've stuck with me on this long, long journey, but this story will be finished eventually, and the next chapter will be out in a much more timely fashion, I promise. We've had illnesses and house problems keeping me away from the keyboard lately, but that should be finished now. Having that said, I am estimating ten more chapters in this fic, and they should all be barn-burners. Hold on to your hats! Thanks again for your patience!_


	22. Unsettling Outcomes

_Chapter 21: Unsettling Outcomes_

Hermione waited for almost an hour before a grim Harry and a rather subdued Ron made it back out of the dungeon. Things hadn't gone to plan after they rescued Tobias, mostly because Snape was the first teacher to find them. Instantly irate when he saw the state of his Slytherins (six out cold, including Zimmy), only an exhausted and puffing McGonagall had kept Snape from tearing into Ron and Harry. But intervention hadn't lessened the burning of his dark eyes as he'd glared at Harry with something four years past hate, which Harry had viciously returned. He didn't expect Snape to act fair where the Slytherins were concerned, but supporting them when they had done something so heinous was going too far. _If Dumbledore could only see Snape at moments like this . . ._

Then Lupin had arrived, startling Harry and Ron. He had been in the castle, on duty for the Order and adding the last remaining students to the Marauder's Map security charm. Unfortunately, he had been working on the seventh-years' names and hadn't noticed Tobias' name down in the dungeon with the Slytherin sixth-years. It wasn't until Harry's name suddenly showed up in the room with Zabini, Draco and Crabbe that Lupin had grown alarmed.

He had first notified Snape, who had been in his office at the time, before running on to intercede himself. He was rather surprised that Snape hadn't gotten here sooner. Harry wasn't.

"He was probably hoping they might succeed," he said darkly as they mounted the stairs to leave the dungeons.

"And they nearly did. Harry, you've got to be more careful," Lupin lectured, stopping to fix fierce eyes on him. "Do not simply run into a room full of your enemies with no back-up. Oh, what am I saying? Don't run into the room even _with_ back-up!" he corrected himself angrily. "Wait for help! Aurors are here now on duty every day. We're here to help protect you."

Harry glared down at the floor, feeling rather abused. Had he or had he not just done the right thing? They could sit around and dissect his methods all day long, but when it came down to it—

"I'm sorry, Harry," Lupin began again, "I shouldn't be angry with you for trying to help, but—"

"—I do what I have to do," Harry interrupted. "I always have and I always will. You get onto me for it now, but soon it's all going to come down to that. And then I guess you'll be glad I'm so reckless."

Lupin stared at him. Harry turned away and started back up the stairs, halting only when Remus put a hand on his arm. "Not reckless, Harry," he whispered, "brave. Forgive me."

Harry looked back down at him and nodded. "Of course." With a nod, he led Ron back up the stairs, in a bit of shock over Lupin's turnaround.

At the top, they found Dumbledore waiting for them, as Hermione and Neville stood trying to keep a crowd of students out of the stairwell. The Gryffindors gave a cheer and Hermione looked relieved to see them. Ron headed straight over to her while Harry stood to the side and gave Dumbledore a full report. The Headmaster was grave as he patted Harry on the shoulder before heading down to make certain the Slytherins were sent to his office for questioning and that Tobias made it to the Infirmary.

"Thank you, Harry, for being so willing to help a fellow student," he said with a smile that quickly faded. "But perhaps next time you might first appraise the teachers of the situation before you charge off?" Harry stared at him until the Headmaster's smile returned. "I say that only, of course, if you are given time to do so. We wish to help you in any way we can and protect you, my boy. You do understand that?"

"Yes, sir," Harry admitted.

Dumbledore briefly ordered the students back into the Great Hall or back to their common rooms if they were done with eating. Harry and Ron returned to the Great Hall.

After grabbing a bite to eat, which Harry barely managed while answering all the questions put to him about the Slytherins' actions, he headed upstairs with the understandably angry and raucous Gryffindors. They wanted revenge, and as angry as Harry was, he couldn't talk them out of it. Hermione talked herself almost hoarse trying to keep the third-year boys from pelting the Slytherin Quidditch players with Dungbombs during their practice the next morning. Ron just laughed at her efforts.

Dinner was cancelled, much to everyone's surprise and sandwiches were set out on the tables in the common rooms. Hermione and Neville, the sixth-year Prefects informed everyone that this was a preventative measure. The students were to stay in the common rooms or in the dorm room for the duration of the evening to keep tempers from flaring and unintentional harm being done.

"Unintentional, my arse," Ron grumbled. "Next time I see Zabini, there's going to be some _intentional_ harm done."

Harry couldn't help but agree. He tried to stay put but kept pacing in front of the fire, unable to focus on the games going on around him. Finally, he asked permission to go see Tobias. After a long delay, word came back from Professor McGonagall (who was in a meeting at the moment) that he had better stay put _or else._ Tobias was fine, but was not to be disturbed tonight, nor were any Gryffindors to be out wandering the halls—especially Harry. He threw himself down in a chair grumpily, near where Fred and George were playing a game of Exploding Snap with Ginny.

"Disgusting, isn't it, Harry?" Fred said airily.

"Humiliating," George agreed. "Next thing you know, they'll be putting a bib on you at meal time. Don't want to get messy din-din on your nice clean uniform, do we?" he cooed in an irritating falsetto.

"Then it's just a short jump to diapers and breastfeeding—OOF!" Fred was interrupted by a pillow stuffed into his mouth.

"I knew you'd work the conversation around to breasts somehow," Ginny said coolly. She stepped around George, who was looking affronted on his brother's behalf, and dumped herself in Harry's lap.

One sweet smile later, Harry's thoughts were successfully railroaded in another direction completely. Ginny often had that effect on him.

Hermione often had the opposite effect. She showed up in the common room after being taken off Prefect duty. "McGonagall wasn't actually in a meeting. She was waiting _outside_ the Headmaster's Office, where Professor Dumbledore was meeting with Snape. They'd been in there an hour already. That means there'll be no time for me to meet with him about the research I've done."

"Well, he'd've probably been too busy anyway," Ron reasoned before stuffing another half of a ham sandwich in his mouth and catching the full brunt of Hermione's glare. "We' 'e woul'!"

After several stinging remarks were traded, Ron caught her bad mood. Harry managed to worry a bit—though Ginny's full attention was on him now—that things might not be going according to plan if Snape had the Headmaster's ear. But as it was a Friday night, they all eventually put aside their worries and the twins brought out a new product line for them to test, something for their Transfiguration Project.

"Don't ask us for details, Hermione," Fred warded her off with a raised hand, "we can't tell you a thing except that you might want to have some Galleons handy next Friday – especially you, Harry, if Katie's Project goes as well as expected. And also, Ron, you might want to make good on that apology to our esteemed Quidditch captain before then. I knew I would," Fred exchanged a secretive grin with George.

The new product line was experimental jellies which featured—along with Frigid Marmalade (which made Neville cold to the touch when he ate too much), Jolly Jam (with a light Cheering Charm embedded in its ingredients), and Pleasant Preserves (with a stronger cheering effect)—Jittery Jelly, which had much the same effect as a Jellylegs Jinx.

Fred stood like a statesman, addressing the Gryffindors as they eagerly passed around the samples. "Imagine you're sitting around at breakfast and you're manky stepmum makes you take out the garbage again. So you return—"

"—with appropriately manky hands—"

"—and very sweetly fix her some of this. Say you want a good day: fix her some Jolly Jam. Or if it's revenge you're after—take the Jittery Jelly to her instead. She'll be in bed in a twink."

Seamus dared Colin to try it. "Hell yeah, I'll try it," said the smaller boy, his cursing still causing amused looks from all the older students. "I'll try anything. Just ask Dennis."

"Oh, he will," the pint-sized fourth-year offered. "He's _really_ up for anything."

Colin took a big scoop and everyone watched him eat it with bated breath. "Tastes nice," he offered thickly, smacking his lips, "a bit like strawberries. Oh, wait, there's a jiggle."

And off he went—legs jittering so much that when he talked, it sounded as though he were operating a jackhammer. Of course, Harry had to explain what he meant by that when he said it, but then everyone agreed. And that was how Colin finally got one of the things he most fervently wished for—a nickname from his fellow Gryffindors. From then on, he was Colinjack—unless it was the twins speaking, who, of course, called him Colinjill.

Saturday dawned as bright and clear as if someone had ordered the perfect Quidditch day. The team was Captainless as Ron hadn't been able to get up his nerve to apologize to Katie yet, for which, of course, the team soundly ridiculed him as soon as they reached the Pitch.

"Is poor ickle Puss scared of the big, bad Captain?" Ginny called out, the last words of which were screamed over her shoulder as Ron gave chase. The whole team got involved in trying to keep Ron from throttling Ginny. Harry ended up holding him back, half-laughing, half-angry.

"All right, all right—no one dies during practice! Save that for the game!" Everyone laughed and eventually Ron relented, gripping his broom tightly. "Now that everyone is warmed up, let's start with the three-man passing drill. Line up!" Harry hadn't meant to take over for Katie, in fact, he'd been expecting Ron to do it, but it seemed to come natural to him. And to his surprise, everyone did as he asked. After an hour, he was happily ordering them around, yelling if needed, thrilled by giving voice to the various weaknesses he saw in the team. It wasn't easy for the Chasers to function well without Katie, but with any luck, she'd be back before the first game. After another hour, Harry was sweaty and exhausted, and hadn't practiced Seeking at all, but felt pleased with himself and the team.

Ginny walked beside him as they left the field. "Aren't you the little dictator?" she said playfully, bumping against him.

"Well, if Katie won't do it," he reasoned, "why not me?"

"I can think of no one better." Her smile lit up Harry's insides.

After showers, they caught up with Hermione at dinnertime. She had been fruitlessly trying to gain entrance to the Headmaster's office and had been sent another note from Dumbledore apologizing for the inconvenience of having to wait. He would send for her when his time was once again, free.

The Great Hall seemed sparse. No seventh-years attended dinner except Cho Chang, who hardly seemed aware of where she was, so intent was she on her Transfiguration text. The Slytherin table was noticeably thinned out. Those who had participated in Tobias' abduction had not been seen all day. Neither had Tobias, who was supposed to have been let out of the Infirmary at some point. The trio plus Ginny spent a few minutes looking for him back at the dorm but didn't find him. The day ended in an orgy of studying: Harry trying to get caught up on his Transfiguration homework; Ginny readying for her O.W.L.S.; Hermione calculating Arithmancy suppositions and Ron falling asleep over his History Book.

"It's impossible," he groused. "I've been conditioned to get sleepy every time I see the thing. I mean, Binns couldn't be exciting if he doused himself with gasoline and lit a bloody match."

"Ron."

"All right, all right!" Ron exploded, turning around to glare at her, "A _stinking_ match. Binns couldn't be exciting if he doused himself with gasoline and lit a stinking match! Is that better?"

"Yes," she said calmly, turning a page. She looked up and gave him a smile that Ron returned lopsidedly. He looked a bit dazzled.

The night came and went, leaving Harry with the blissful feeling of having caught up on sleep and not being needed anywhere at once. He woke up Sunday feeling thirsty, but hopeful, in fact, better than he had in weeks. He gazed up at his crimson curtains with a vague smile that slowly grew into a grin. Three of the five remaining Seven Deadly Slytherins were out of commission and surely on their way out of Hogwarts by now. Even Snape couldn't talk them out of that. So that meant there would only be two more attempts on his life—which was undoubtedly better than having four to look forward to.

Harry grabbed his glasses, stretched and popped out of bed. "Get up, mate," he said as he parted Ron's curtains and thumped him in the head.

"Unnn unnngh," Ron replied.

"Did not hurt," Harry said over his shoulder as he jerked off his pajama top and reached for a t-shirt. "Get up. We have a lot of work to do on the team today, and remember, I'm captaining again since Katie still won't be there—thanks to you." Harry thumped him on the head again.

"OW! Geroff!" and a disheveled, shirtless, bed-headed Ron was on his feet, groggily rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "Quidditch. Right," he mumbled as he headed for the bathroom.

The Great Hall was nearly deserted as Ron and Harry met Ginny and a few other team members for breakfast. Ginny was pale and had dark circles under her eyes.

"Didn't you get any sleep last night?" Harry asked, taking her hand in his own under the table.

"Sort of. I was reviewing Potions, trying to stay on the O.W.L. schedule Hermione planned out for me, and I fell asleep on my books. Then I had a nightmare that Snape was chasing me through the castle, demanding the ingredients for Frigid Marmalade," she said with a shiver. "Stupid dream, but it creeped me out a bit and I couldn't go back to sleep once I got in my room. Shouldn't have drunk that coffee, I suppose."

"Suppose not," Harry agreed. "You can nap after practice."

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "we're all going to need naps after today's practice. I say we do double drills and a one-handed scrimmage." A few groans were heard from down the table. "Do you want to beat Slytherin or not?" Ron asked them loudly. "We only have two weeks, you know."

Practice flew by as Harry tried to get serious about the team's deficiencies. By the end, the Beaters were definitely improved, and he thought the Chasers—even without Katie— actually had a chance against Slytherin now. Harry had even managed to practice Seeking during the second half of their scrimmage. He'd caught the Snitch in less than eight minutes.

The glow of a good practice and a good workout stayed with Harry after his shower and about ten minutes into his lunch. Then, like a dark fog shrouding a sunny day, the Slytherins entered the room. First came some third-years, all looking at Harry strangely—a few laughing. Next came a few fifth-years, then a clump of girls and following them, Draco—a limping, pale Draco who was using what looked like a black cane to support him as he crossed the room. His gaze was fixed on the Slytherin table.

Harry was watching him with a slightly gaping mouth and only heard the reaction around him as the next Slytherins entered.

"What the bloody hell—?"

"That's impossible!"

"Harry? How did—?"

But Harry couldn't answer. In stunned amazement that quickly turned to fury, he watched Bulstrode, Nott, Crabbe and Zabini stride across the floor.

"What are they doing here?" Ginny grabbed at Harry's sleeve, but he was already on his way to the teacher's table. Dumbledore wasn't there, but a tight-lipped Minerva McGonagall was in her usual spot. Severus Snape was staring at them with a small smile from his seat.

"Not a word, Potter," she waved at him.

"But—"

"The Headmaster has dealt with all my objections in the same way he will deal with yours—by reassuring that this is the only fair and reasonable thing to do."

"HOW? How can this—"

"Potter! Not another word." She paused and took in a deep breath through her flared nostrils. "Those students you see maintain that they were put under the Imperius Curse—"

"_WHAT?"_

"Imperius Curse my arse!" Ron bellowed beside Harry.

"Mr. Weasley! Ten points from Gryffindor for that disrespectful language, though I must say the sentiment is not unshared." She gave him a stern look. "There was evidence, using a _Priori Incantatem,_ that Mr. Bletchley had, indeed, performed the Imperius Curse many, many times over the past weeks. Under the circumstances, the Headmaster was obliged to give the students the benefit of the doubt, since Professor Snape vowed to serve as the responsible party for any more . . . incidents."

"Indeed I have, Mr. Potter," Snape said in his most oily voice. "I hope you have no problems with the outcome."

Harry glanced at the Potions professor and then turned on his heel. Fury fueled by desperation heated his every moment so that he fairly whipped the air as he moved to confront the Slytherins. Hot blood pumped in his veins.

Draco saw him coming, raised a single eyebrow and crossed his arms. He murmured something to Blaise, who immediately jerked around and zeroed in on Harry, who was already glaring down at him.

Blaise gave a very fake smile. "Potter. I am so very sorry about that misunderstanding the other night."

"Oh yes, the one where you went to kill me and missed?" Harry hissed through his teeth.

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "I never meant to kill you. Surely even _you_ can't be that dense."

Harry leaned over closer. "Do you know why you had to trap me in a room and surround me by four other Slytherins before you'd throw a curse my way? Because you're a coward."

Blaise jumped to his feet and his eyes glittered. "If I'd meant to kill you, Potter, you'd be dead. Think! What's one of the Seven Deadly Sins? Anger? Are you angry now? Did my little trick make you _angry_ enough? I think you so."

"So do I," Millicent said loudly, a smug smile on her repugnant face. "He's angry."

"And when you're angry," Blaise pointed out, "you make mistakes."

Harry was going to have to try harder. His upper lip curled. "You're the one who's made a mistake. You're too much of a coward to take me on alone."

"How dare you."

"What? Don't you know that's common knowledge? Everyone knows Draco is a ponce, Crabbe is an idiot and Zabini is a coward. Even baby Gryffindors know that." Zabini was shaking with rage, but he hadn't reached for his wand yet. "Everyone's watching you and everyone knows you would never pull your wand on me."

"I will. My turn is still to come," Blaise breathed.

"Oh. Brilliant. And do you know what happens to Deadly Slytherins who try to kill me and don't get the job done right?" A flicker of fear rose in Blaise's eyes. "Yes, I can see you do. Pansy and Goyle do—I mean, _did_. You're a coward, Blaise. Salazar Slytherin himself would be ashamed of you." Very aware of the line he was crossing, Harry spat on Blaise's face.

Then there were arms grabbing Harry, pulling back, and Slytherins reaching for Blaise as he vaulted the table, wand waving. Screams sounded and teachers were yelling, but Harry had Blaise right where he wanted him. Harry shook off his friends and punched his wand into his hand, dropped to one knee, opened his mouth and—did not fire a curse.

Blaise was howling something inarticulately—his frenzy ending in a Bludgeoning Curse.

He jerked to the side and let it pass, then stood up. "Nice shot, Zabini."

Blaise's jaw dropped, but he moved to fire another curse. Draco knocked his wand hand down with his cane—so hard that the crack echoed around the room.

Harry stowed his wand, a grin on his face. "And have a nice trip home." Blaise was stuttering madly. With a grin, Harry walked back to the Gryffindor table.

"Great job, Harry!"

Ron pounded Harry on the back. "I thought you'd lost your marbles for a minute there, but that was brilliant."

Ginny kissed Harry on the cheek soundly. "Very brilliant. Zabini was the worst of that lot and now he's gone."

Hermione wasn't nearly as nice. "Harry James Potter! You spit on Zabini?"

"He wasn't reaching for his wand and I didn't know what else to do. He . . . wait—" Harry stopped and turned back around. Professor Snape was snarling at Zabini.

"How dare you pull a stunt like that in the Great Hall! You were made aware by the Headmaster that this sort of misbehavior would result in immediate dismissal from the school grounds, and yet you flagrantly disobeyed the rule. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Harry slid a glance over to Ron and saw him staring as well, pale and gaping like a fish.

"I—I—I don't know what to say, sir," Blaise stammered out. "He was baiting me—

I—just—wasn't thinking."

"Obviously. Apologize to Mr. Potter and then go and pack your things!"

"But sir, Potter—he was—" Crabbe began from beside them. Harry saw Draco make a gesture to quiet him.

"There are no exceptions to the rule. _Apologize to Mr. Potter!"_

The hall was deathly quiet. Blaise walked stiffly over to Harry, who felt that he'd been plunged into a surreal dream.

"I . . . apologize for my behavior."

"Yeah. Er . . . sure."

Blaise's face settled into a sneering grimace, what he might have meant as a smile, and turned away.

Snape, who had been watching Blaise with a stern eye, moved his gaze to Harry, where it softened. "I am certain Mr. Potter will forgive you for your outrageous behavior. He is the forgiving sort. Correct, Mr. Potter?"

Harry blinked.

"Of course he is, though I hardly think he is blameless in this episode. Mr. Potter, there will be no verbal attacks on students allowed in the Great Hall, either. If you have a problem with a fellow student, come to a faculty member first. Is that clear?" Professor McGonagall asked in ringing tones.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said in a voice that didn't carry half as far.

McGonagall then turned to the gaping student body. "Now, do we need any further underscoring of the rule that there will be no spells in the Great Hall—ever? No?" There was a general shaking of heads. "Then get back to eating!"

As Snape escorted Blaise out, Harry looked blankly round at Ron and Hermione. Ron's face was a mask of horror; Hermione was blinking over and over again, as if her thoughts were spinning too fast to register. Ginny tugged at Harry's hand and he let her lead him toward the table. They all sat under a heavy cloud of silence.

After a moment, Ron roused himself. "Did Snape just say something . . . well, I mean, could it be called sort of, maybe . . . well, nice—what he said?"

"Yeah," Harry murmured.

Ron nodded. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"It's just so wrong," Neville added with a shudder.

Blaise was gone now, having left the hall without a backward glance, Snape right on his heels. Harry would give anything to hear _that_ conversation. His gaze traveled back over to where Draco sat watching him, his face impassive. Harry had a thousand questions going through his mind.

As the new week dawned, the mystery of Snape's behavior deepened. Potions was a waking nightmare now, marked not with sarcastic remarks and bitter hate directed at Harry, but with sugary words and niceness from the Professor that went far beyond the bounds of creepiness.

By Wednesday, Harry wanted so desperately to go back to the way things had been before that he spilled his Delirium Draught on purpose, right on Snape's shoes as he walked by. _Here,_ Harry thought, _here's where the yelling begins and we get back to some normal, detention-giving rancor._ But instead, Snape's face turned a mottled purple color, reminding Harry vividly of Uncle Vernon, and then—he smiled. Harry flinched.

"Did I brush your vial as I went by, dear boy?" Snape's voice oozed with charm. "How clumsy of me. _Scourgify!_ You'll still get full marks, of course." Then he walked directly to his office and closed the door.

Hermione stared at Harry, trembling. "Why did you do that?"

Harry shook his head, his eyes never leaving Snape's office. "I'll bet he's put a Silencing Charm in there and is breaking things right and left. Why's he pretending to like me? No one believes it. No one likes it."

The Slytherins were regarding Harry with the utmost contempt, murder in their eyes. Draco, however, was sitting with a vacant expression, one hand propping up his head. He looked abjectly miserable.

"I don't know, Harry," Hermione said, putting a hand on his arm to get his attention. "But I don't think it will help anything if you make Snape lose his temper. Just play along."

"Play along?" Harry asked. The germ of an idea was beginning to form. "I can do that. I can _definitely_ do that."

From that day on, he was as pleasant to Snape as Snape was to him. He did it because he knew it bothered Snape more than anything else he could have done in return, and the look on his face was quiet comical the first time Harry told him he looked extremely well-dressed that day.

The Headmaster agreed to meet with Harry for a few minutes on Wednesday night, after meetings with concerned parents and professors wishing to heighten security and before his almost nightly conversations with Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge. Bletchley had been handed over to Aurors over the weekend when Dumbledore reluctantly contacted the Ministry. The consequences, though not unforeseen, were grim.

Several members of the Wizengamot were calling for an investigation into Dumbledore's control over Hogwarts, questioning his ability to keep the students safe. An editorial had made it into the paper, causing a flurry of speculation and concern about Bletchley's safety. The boy would probably go to Azkaban to await trial, which was not good. Dumbledore was doing his best to waylay the Head Auror Costa Fornier, from pursuing this course of action, but the man was stubborn. Having lost Narcissa Malfoy to suicide, he was taking no chances.

Professor Dumbledore recounted all of this information in that way he had, of making it all seem to be a bother instead of the grave complications that they were. Even when Harry brought up the Seven Deadly Slytherins, Dumbledore seemed unfazed. He had known about them from the start of the year, from Snape, and had the Professor working on the problem from the inside.

"He hasn't done exactly a bang-up job, sir, do you think?"

Professor Dumbledore leaned back. "I would be careful of dealing out judgment so quickly, Harry. The situation is much more complicated than you know. Severus must be careful not to show his hand, so to speak, and that hampers him from dealing directly with situations."

"And that kept him from warning me about the Love Potion, or about the Portkey? Or maybe it was spite? Really, sir, I—"

"I have my own reasons for trusting Severus, Harry." Harry opened his mouth to argue and shut it again. There was really nothing else to say after that. "There are things in Professor Snape's life that you do not understand and probably never will understand. There is little love lost between the two of you, but you are no longer on opposite sides. Surely, you've noticed the change in how he treats you in class. I've heard that your reciprocation has been a little less than what I had hoped for."

"Well, I'm sorry sir, but it's just . . . creepy." Harry barely restrained a shudder. "And I don't understand what you mean that we're no longer on opposite sides. You've always said he was on our side."

"Yes, but he had to _appear_ to be on the other side, as he was reporting to Tom as a double-agent of sorts. That is no longer the case."

"What? Since when?"

The Headmaster smiled. "Do not feel badly, my boy, but it all goes back to your rescue of Charlie Weasley. Severus had already told Tom at that point that you were still in a coma. Your rescue showed that Snape was either a liar or completely undependable. He had a desperate choice to make: return, beg forgiveness and take the consequences, or never return at all."

Harry let that all sink in a moment. "So, he's chosen to never go back?"

"Precisely. Therefore, he no longer has to force himself to menace you in front of the Death Eater's children or future recruits. He is free to act as a normal professor will. That is the change you have seen in him."

Harry wasn't really satisfied with this, but he let the subject drop. He thanked the Professor for his time, then stopped himself at the door. "Have you seen Draco, sir?"

"I have. He seems to be caught in a difficult spot. But I am afraid that is where he has placed himself and we are of little help."

"But he's being bullied, sir. That limp of his had to have—"

"—He insists that it was a clumsy accident and no more. Professor Snape said that Draco tried to heal the broken leg himself and did so badly. Draco refuses to go to the Infirmary to have it fixed. As it does not pose a danger to him, we are letting things take their natural course."

Harry gritted his teeth. "And, sir, Hermione asked me to let you know she's ready to meet whenever you have a spare moment."

The Headmaster chuckled. "Remind her that I will send for her as soon as that spare moment appears. Will that help?"

"No, not really. I've been telling her that all along, but you know Hermione. Thank you, sir." But as he walked down the stairs to collect Ron, he wondered how much of the truth Dumbledore was missing because of his blind faith in Snape, faith that seemed more blind all the time.

Toward the end of the school week, the seventh-years were by turns, exhausted, giddy and mysterious, which drove Hermione mad. Finally, on Thursday evening, McGonagall announced to the school that the Great Hall would be closed on the following day for the seventh-years to prepare their Transfiguration Projects. Breakfast and lunch would be served in the Common Rooms.

This sparked a flurry of wild speculation, none of which was commented on by the reclusive seventh-years. The Gryffindors were all complaining about the change in eating venues until the breakfast buffet appeared in the Common Room the next morning. Instead of the simple fare they had expected, it was like Christmas come early. The spread of hot dishes and sauces and baked items were accented by a gold-leafed tablecloth and shining crystalware edged in cold. The milk was cold and frothy; the coffee hot and strong; the juices were icy cold. Everyone served themselves and then lounged all over the room, chattering in between bites.

Even Tobias made an appearance, settling himself in a corner with Violet Hooch, taking care to be as far away from Harry as possible. Harry watched him, determined to at least exchange a smile with the boy. He hadn't seen him since the incident. Tobias had made every attempt to avoid him; it was obvious he felt uncomfortable in his presence. Even now, he had to be aware Harry was trying to get his attention, but he kept his eyes down on his own plate.

"Give him some time, Harry," Ginny said as she settled down beside him on the couch, balancing a muffin and another cup of coffee on her plate. "He was really scared."

"Have you tried the casserole? I hate it when Mum makes it, but _this_ is grand!" Ron happily stuffed his face, making Harry smile. This was like a giant indoor picnic, with the promise of another one for lunch.

So Harry's mood was high as he kissed Ginny goodbye at the portrait and walked to class with Ron and Hermione. They were sinking into a deep Quidditch discussion when they rounded the corner on the third floor—so the attack by the Slytherins took them completely off guard. All Harry knew was that suddenly Ron was gone, Hermione was screaming and Draco had hit him so hard that he was slammed against the wall, blood pouring from his nose.

Now, truth be told, Harry could have prevented that punch—his Sensing told him where that fist was and when to dodge—but he was so surprised by the force of his concern for Draco and distracted in trying to figure out why the boy was doing this that he did nothing at first.

Once he did manage to get a hold of Draco and get in a good punch to his gut, the Slytherin seized the chance to lean in close to his ear, whispering frantically. Harry listened, his gaze flickering from the intensity in the boy's eyes to the other Slytherins, who were screaming encouragement or harassing the Gryffindors. Abruptly, Draco was finished, shoving Harry away and pulling Crabbe from Ron any real damage could be done. The Slytherin crowd followed Draco reluctantly, giving Harry filthy looks as long as they could. Harry watched, wiping blood from his mouth and spitting more on the floor.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked tremulously. Harry nodded.

Professor Flitwick showed up, but Harry assured him it was a simple misunderstanding—that Draco had gotten in his way and tripped him so that Harry had hit the wall with his face. Ron blustered until Hermione shushed him. The crowd of sympathetic students that had gathered around them stared at Harry, shocked by his lie.

Harry stared back. Once Flitwick had gone, Harry muttered, "I don't want a professor fighting my battles for me. I'll take care of Draco my own way—don't worry."

The students nodded and looked generally approving again.

"Be careful, Harry!"

"Give 'em hell, Harry!"

One first-year walked over and reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Laughter spread around the hallway as Harry blushed and bent down awkwardly. For the life of him, he couldn't remember her name, but she was a tiny blond fairy of a girl. "You have to stay safe, Harry. Don't worry about that nasty boy. What goes around comes around—that's what my mum always says."

"Thanks," Harry said faintly, wishing everyone would stop staring. The little girl turned to Hermione and gave her a smile, then returned to the group of giggling girls she belonged to. Once the crowd had dispersed, Hermione turned again to Harry, "What did he say to you?"

"What? Who?" Ron asked, looking from one to the other.

Harry felt his nose gingerly. It didn't feel broken, but Draco sure hadn't pulled the punch. "He said I'd better not eat any pudding tonight."

"Why not?" Ron asked, louder.

"Shush!" Hermione hissed.

"Apparently, it's Crabbe's turn," Harry admitted, picking up the books he'd dropped and sighing before he looked at his friends. "He knows about the drug-laced cupcakes we gave him in second year and he knows that Goyle is dead."

Ron and Hermione exchanged grim looks. "Well, still—not eating any pudding at all?" Ron shook his head. "How long do they expect you to keep _that_ up?"

Ron stuck to that line of reasoning no matter how many times Harry explained that pudding wasn't worth dying over.

As they sat in their chairs, ready for Transfiguration, Ron leaned over to have another go at Harry. "Listen to me, you prat! I can be your taster. Show me what you want to eat and I'll try a bit. If I keel over and die, then you'll know not to eat it!"

"I don't need a taster," Harry growled. "I'm not some poncy prince."

"He shouldn't eat anything at all," Hermione said firmly from the other side.

"That's a bit much, don't you think?"

They had a whispered argument over Harry like he wasn't even there. He thought he agreed with Hermione until she said that he should go to his dorm room and stay there all night, fasting. That was going a bit too far. Nevertheless, he agreed that he was going to have to be careful.

Once Transfiguration Class began, he found out how difficult of a job it was going to be.

"This year it was deemed unsafe to let the student body travel to Hogsmeade," McGonagall said in a clipped voice that preempted complaints. "Thus, Professor Dumbledore has asked that the seventh-years be allowed to try to bring Hogsmeade to us. They have each chosen a type of shop to run, and have Transfigured, bought or borrowed what they need to make their shop and stock it accordingly. You will want to have your Galleons handy. The bazaar will open at three o'clock sharp, with food and sweets of every kind. No dinner will be served, so eat up. By your purchases, you will be ensuring a better grade for your fellow students."

Ron was shaking his head. "Fred and George get all the breaks. How in the world did they happen to get back into school the one year that seventh-years have to run a shop to get a good grade? When are we ever going to have an assignment on something I'm good at?"

Seamus leaned back from the table in front of them, "You mean like clearing out the bathroom with that stink of yours?" Ron just grinned and nodded. "You are exceptionally talented in that area, mate."

Hermione ignored them with a muttered, "Boys are mad."

Harry smiled, but sweets and enticing pastries were spinning in his mind. He flexed his left bicep and felt the familiar tug of his Universal Poison Antidote, the one made by Snape. Did he dare trust in it? He could take one before eating anything he suspected poisoned and it would neutralize it—at least according to Snape. But trusting Snape at this point seemed utter folly.

Harry went over his options all morning, with Ron and Hermione interjecting their polarized opinions intermittently.

By the time for the bazaar, Harry still hadn't come to a conclusion. He joined the throng of students waiting in the Great Hall and took Ginny's hand. She turned and gave his hand a squeeze. "You'll be fine. We'll test everything before you eat it. Simple. No worries."

Harry nodded. But what if Draco was wrong? What if the Slytherins fed him misinformation to lead Harry off the track? Harry shook his head. He had to trust Draco. He had to. He just wished it didn't sound like such a completely idiotic thing to do.

The student body waiting in the foyer of the Great Hall grew louder and louder as the clock approached three. Everywhere, there were faces lit up with excitement, obsessing over what they would find inside the huge doors—speculating from Owl Post deliveries, theorizing and recounting every hint and tidbit anyone was lucky enough to gather from a willing seventh-years.

"You know, Fred and George said something about Katie's shop being right up my alley. Oh, sorry, mate," Ron said as he was stepped on the back of Harry's shoe, "getting shoved here. So, d'you think it could be a Quality Quidditch Supplies kind of a shop? D'you think she'd give me a discount or something?"

"Not enough of one," Ginny said tartly. "The whole point is to see who can make the most money today. That counts for a large part of the grade."

"That hardly seems fair," Hermione sniffed. "Obviously some things will sell for more money than others."

"Yes, but the students were supposed to take that into account and think up ways to bring in more money to compensate. I think it's going to be interesting to see who does the best."

Ron poked her. "Where's your loyalty? Of course Fred and George will sell the most. They've got real-world experience. And candy."

Just then, the doors to the Great Hall opened and out stepped Professor McGonagall.

"Quiet down. Quiet down, everyone. Now, the students have worked very hard to make this a wonderful experience for all of you and to get the best marks they can. Don't ruin by behaving badly. Respect all of their hard work, regardless of which house they are in, and remember that buying their products will help ensure a high marks for them. Are we ready? Good. Then proceed in an orderly fashion. I said orderly!" But with a delighted cry, the students surged faster than Professor McGonagall had anticipated. She quickly put up a shield that made a twanging sound every time someone bumped into it, and berated every student that came near, eventually resorting to taking House Points. In that one crush, over two-hundred and ninety House Points were lost, most of them Slytherin.

In surging crush forward, the trio and Ginny nearly got separated. But they managed to stay in a pack by fierce, dogmatic stubbornness—aided by Ron's long reach and Harry's temper—and entered into a world completely unlike the one they traversed every day.

The first thing they noticed was the sky magicked in the ceiling above them, which was radiating the thrilling mix of oranges, reds and yellows that appears just before sunset. Only this sunset was controlled, lasting the whole three hours that the bazaar was open, and setting into a clear, starry night once it had closed, as Fred and George told them later.

Beneath the brilliant sky was a winding maze of brightly-colored stalls and tents selling all kind of wares. Colors assaulted the students from every side in the awnings and flags that waved, advertising the goods inside as well as the house of the owner. Looking more closely, Harry could easily pick out the shop boasting of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes about halfway down the winding path, using bright neon orange as its base color. Up higher, on some sort of magical hill that supported a large clump of shops, was Katie's Kwidditch Keeper. Both of those Harry would definitely visit—later.

First were a clothing shop run by a Hufflepuff girl who had always been nice to Harry. Ginny picked out a scarf there as Harry and Ron stood in the open air eyeing Cho Chang's food stall down the lane. The smells of the rich and spicy foods that wafted forth were tantalizing. Harry was hungry.

In fact, that was all he could think about as they walked forward, peering into the next shop that they could actually fit into. Students were packing in all of them, especially Cho's, Harry noticed. It didn't surprise him at all when Ron bought a meat pasty at the first kiosk they came to, the Hufflepuff Pasty Shop.

Hermione gave him a look, but his mouth was too full to defend himself. After Ron had eaten over half of it, he took pity on Harry and handed him the rest.

"Oughtta' be safe. Tastes great," he summed up, licking his fingers.

Harry didn't care how much was already eaten, it was fabulous. That was the pattern they followed for the next hour as the girls shopped—Ron buying food, some paid for by Harry, eating a bit and then handing it off. Neither of them was really satisfied in the end, but it was better than watching Harry starve all afternoon.

They had to wait in line to get into the Weasleys' eyesore of a tent, even though the twins didn't resort to tricks or bribes to get anyone inside. The crazily-striped orange, lime green and nautical blue tent was filled with gadgets and candies from the other store at even lower prices, since there was less overhead. The twins were in their element, making deals, padding sales with miscellaneous items, cutting the prices for the prettiest girls. Hannah Abbot, Harry was surprised to see, had actually donned a talking apron (designed much like Harry's bothersome sling) and was helping tally up sales.

"Buy more and spend less!" the talking apron boomed, "Everything's on sale! Everything must go! Moving sale! Going-out-of-business Sale! Inventory Reduction Sale! Inventory Predilection Sale! Inventory Selection, Predisposition, and Trepidation Sale!"

Hannah, who blushed pink when George winked at her, continued to blush as Harry bought a galleon's worth of tricks and candies.

"Aren't they doing great?" she said enthusiastically. "I think they're going to win!"

"Yeah," Harry murmured. He was still debating eating a nougat when Ginny stepped over to him.

"I'm bored here. Let's move on."

Katie's Kwiddich Keeper was a beautiful shop, all done in varnished wood with properly working doors and an open ceiling, with magically-hung ceiling fans, to let in the sunset. She met them at the door and walked around with them proudly. "The brooms I inventoried just to give it atmosphere, though it would be nice to sell one or two. They give the most profit of anything I sell. But I also have a great line of supplies to clean brooms and anything you need to make watching the games more comfortable—Omnioculars, Bum-bastic Seat Cushions, huge House Supporter banners and clackers. Imagine when we're playing Slytherin and our whole houses clacks those during a penalty shot!"

Ginny was in awe. "Katie, how on earth did you get enough to stock the new Firebolt?"

"Actually, it's a loan. If it doesn't sell, I return it to Quality Quidditch Supplies. If it does sell, I get half for commission."

Harry had noticed Ginny's eyes come alive as she'd studied the new Firebolt Beam. It was smaller and lighter than his own, with a Deluxe Seating Charm and Heater. The twigs were straight as an arrow and the handle glowed softly in the fading light. It was beautiful and fiery—just like Ginny. He had to buy it for her.

They enjoyed looking at the other things, and each bought a Gryffindor banner to hang in their dorm rooms. The clackers they couldn't use because they would be in the air during the games, of course. When Harry mentioned they missed her at practices, Katie stiffened, saying that she couldn't think about that until after the Transfiguration Project was done.

"I hope she sells a lot," Ginny whispered as they left the shop, "so she'll be in a good mood and come back to play."

Just then, they passed Neville, who was happily stuffing his face with Chinese food as Luna steered him to a nearby table.

"Hello, Harry!" Luna called, smiling. "Keep an eye on the crows!"

Harry didn't appreciate the reminder of that dire dream she'd had about him, but it did remind him to keep an eye for Crabbe. So far, he hadn't run into any of the Deadly Slytherins, but was almost sure he'd seen Lupin duck out of sight up ahead. _Good. Aurors on duty. _

Harry looked around for Ron and saw him exiting his brothers' tent, eating some sort of licorice. "Let's go and get Ron," he said, taking Ginny's hand.

Ginny sighed. "I was hoping to spend some time _alone_ with you."

Harry squeezed her hand. "We will later, all right?"

"All right, then," she said with a sigh. Just then, George stuck his head out of the tent.

"Bitsy, you're wanted!" he called gaily.

"Excuse me while I go hex a brother out of existence, doesn't matter which one," Ginny growled as she grasped Ron's arm. He whispered the bodyguard spell and Ginny was on her way again so quickly that Harry almost missed the whole thing.

"Harry, haven't been eating anything without me, have you?" Ron asked as he sucked on his licorice. "Wanna' bite?

"No, thank you. I prefer my licorice dry."

"Been to Katie's?"

"Actually, yes. Want to go with? I have something to buy."

Ron was alight with jealousy when he saw the broom Harry was going to buy. "I don't think she'll accept that, Harry. I mean, it's a bit much."

"Maybe. But it's perfect and I would buy it for her if it only cost a shilling. It's not the amount of money that matters. You don't think she'd understand that?"

Ron nodded his head, comprehension slowly dawning. "So, is that how I should be, too? Like if I . . . wanted to buy something for Hermione? Just find something perfect for her and don't worry about money?"

"Er . . . yeah, I guess so. Works for me. I mean, I think it does. It's not like I've done this before or anything."

After working out the payment with Katie, who was thrilled beyond belief to be selling her second broom of the day, Harry headed back out, satisfied, and ready to eat half a cow if it was presented to him in a bowl. "I have to eat something. Let's head over to Cho's."

Cho's InterContinental Cuisine didn't just serve Chinese food, but hot Indian food, Thai food, as well as Mexican and Italian dishes. The smells coming from the kitchen were heavenly, even as mixed as they were. Ron tossed the last bit of his much-abused licorice in a trash bin nearby and led the way. It was set up cafeteria-style, with all the dishes laid out on trays according to type. Harry picked an Italian feast of spaghetti, lasagna and stuffed shells in Alfredo sauce. He was barely patient enough for Ron to taste it for him before digging in. Ron had gone with Chinese food, mostly because Harry had the Italian covered and he knew he was going to get to eat his as well.

The food was excellent. Behind the counter, Cho looked satisfied, if frazzled. She had a staff of four underclassmen working to get the trays ready and another seventh year running the register. They were doing very, very good business.

Just as Harry had taken the last bite, Ginny showed back up. "I bought you something," she said, pulling Harry away from the table where Ron was still finishing up.

"'ey—wai'," Ron called through his food.

"We won't go far," Harry assured him as Ginny pulled him on to the alley between Cho's and a half-filled book stall run by a disappointed-looking Ravenclaw.

Harry pulled his hand out of Ginny's, wondering at the tightness of her grip. "You can let go. I'm not going to run away."

"Oh," she blinked, then smiled. "Sorry. I just wanted you to have this before you got too full." She handed him a small package.

"What is it?" Harry asked as he opened it.

"A mini-gateaux. It's really rich chocolate cake, only it's small enough to not make you sick. You know, since you have that thing about chocolate cake."

Harry looked up at her and nodded. He did have a slight aversion to it because of his aunt's chocolate cake that had been poisoned. Which reminded him . . . he hated to ask, but . . .

"Did you . . . taste it already?"

She stared at him. "No. Why? Does it have a bite missing or something?"

He looked back at the cake. No bite missing. But Ginny knew he couldn't eat anything sweet tonight . . .

Harry jerked his head up, wand already in hand. "Couldn't come up with anything more original . . . Cra—"

Ginny's face twisted and she flung a container of liquid at Harry's face. He jerked aside, but some splashed on his cheek. His skin seared with pain and both of his eyes were forced close as the fumes rose. He was now fighting blind. Automatically, he turned to Sensing.

A curse was coming, Harry felt it—the Killing Curse!

But there were students behind him—he couldn't duck. He had to shield. Was that even possible? With only a half-second to spare, Harry desperately conjured the gray shield of Occlumency, focusing it outside of himself. There was a terrible pressure, a pain that came from beyond the shield. It threatened to splinter his mind, to rip his soul from his body and Harry fought it with every ounce of power he had. But it wasn't enough.

It was breaking him—he could feel it. A scream began to build inside, filling up his mind with darkness and pain. And then, suddenly—there was light.

Harry's mind glowed with an infusion of silvery essence, feeding him power out of nowhere—_no, not nowhere._ It was familiar, ephemeral magic, and it acted like adrenaline in Harry's body. He used it to fight harder, focusing on his shield, strengthening it until it was impenetrable.

The Killing Curse could go no further and it snapped back, returning to where it came from.

Harry was thrown in the opposite direction, body limp. He hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud that took his breath. Gasping, weak, he looked up into the white, shocked face of Fred who was trying to say something—something important. Then the world slowly faded to white.


	23. Prologue to chapter 22

Prologue to Chapter Twenty-Two

It was only four days to the full moon and Remus could feel the itching in his bones. It always began that way, with the itching and the ragged nerves. The hyperawareness of everything around him. This was not good timing. Harry was here, happily and distractedly walking around Hogwarts' First Transfiguration Bazaar with several students who wanted him dead stalking around in the immediate vicinity. Of course, they didn't appear to be stalking. The Aurors assigned to trail them reported no unusual behavior by the Slytherins at all.

Draco was cheerlessly leading around a fourth-year Slytherin, a girl who seemed relatively harmless. Theodore Nott had parked his carcass in Sylvia's Standard Shop, a Ravenclaw venture that sold anything you could think of with house insignias or family crests embroidered or carved or embossed on them. The Twitchtie girls had just gone by shopping in a pack, chattering endlessly about nothing that seemed important.

Vincent Crabbe, who was getting special attention these days due to the warning from Draco, had not even left his room. He was apparently ill, confirmed by a Polyjuiced Tonks in the uncomfortable guise of Millicent Bulstrode. Tonks had placed a spell in the hallway to go off when Crabbe left the room, and it had as of yet, remained silent. This left Remus very uneasy. This was a perfect opportunity to take Harry unawares.

Everywhere, Remus saw excited, cheerful faces—students jettisoning the worries and pressures that beset them daily and enjoying this small window of frivolity. Sinister forces seemed perfectly alien here. But since _here_ was where Harry was, it was best to simply assume the danger and get ready.

Yes—Remus was a nervous, nervous werewolf. He tapped his wand to the communication bead affixed to his watch. "Is Dumbledore free yet?"

"Not yet," came Charlie Weasley's tired voice. "If it wasn't the Headmaster, I'd blow right in there and see if he needed help, but as it is . . ."

Remus sighed. "Charlie, it's best that he answers as many questions as he can about Gregory's disappearance. If there are too many unanswered questions, then suspicion may swing back Harry's way. I have a feeling it wouldn't take too much to get it there."

Charlie snorted. "I think it's there already. Why else would Fornier come straight back here?"

"Perhaps. But then Goyle was detained here at the castle for almost twenty-four hours before he was released to his parents. Part of the problem is not knowing where the real Goyle was switching with the false one. Did Gregory Goyle return home alive, or was there foul play here at Hogwarts before the boy even left?"

"But they haven't found out for sure that he's dead yet, right?"

"Not yet. His parents are refusing to give any information as to where the real Gregory is, and no body has been found."

"He's just lucky I never got my hands on him. So, how are things looking down there? Wish I was free to help."

"So far? Good," Remus intoned quietly, watching the students pass in front of him, keeping the one with familiar, tousled, black hair always in sight. "And you are helping, Charlie. Stay put. Let us know as soon as the Headmaster is free and on his way."

"You got it. _Weasleytwo_ out."

Remus took a deep breath. _Why _did they have to have a bazaar now, when Harry was spending the entire year with a target on his back? He watched Harry, Ginny beside him, as they headed for Katie's shop. They looked so carefree, but then, of course, they hadn't heard the news about Goyle yet.

It had just happened this morning that during the trial of young Goyle for conspiring to have Harry Portkeyed from the castle, it was found that he was not himself. That is to say that he was a Polyjuiced cousin of Gregory's, made to look like him and stand trial for him, ostensibly under the Imperius. All hell had broken loose at that point. It had taken mere hours for the inquiry to come to Hogwarts in the form of the Head Auror, Claude Fornier and a few of his disciples. Now they had the Headmaster stewing up in his office when he truly needed to be down here among the students, protecting Harry from whatever horrible scheme Lord Voldemort's disciples had cooked up this time.

Remus shook his head grimly, then arrested his thoughts as Harry and Ginny disappeared into Katie's Kwiddich Keeper. Looking over, he saw Tonks, dressed as a Hufflepuff student with short blonde hair, duck in after them. He relaxed, took a few deep breaths, and then started actively scanning the crowd.

The Aurors had been slowly building up a force within the school to protect Harry. Tonks had been invaluable in this capacity with her ability to blend in, shadowing Harry as he went from class to class, transformed into a student from a different House. She'd done a good job, though she'd almost come face to face with herself the day she'd chosen Cho Chang.

Remus walked around the outside of the shop. There was only one entrance and exit, so he tucked himself away to the side and watched it like a hawk. After a few minutes, Harry emerged from the shop looking very pleased with himself, Ginny right by his side. As he moved to follow, Remus' face creased in a smile. From the back, the pair looked uncannily like another set of lovebirds he'd known.

They met up with Ron, who looked hungry—not a rare thing. Remus sincerely hoped they would not be heading toward Cho's tent next. Torturous to smell that food and not be able to eat! The siblings performed the Bodyguard Switching charm and Ginny headed off to gripe at her brothers. As Remus turned to follow Harry and Ron, he saw Ginny being hailed by Violet Hooch.

The boys, unfortunately, _were_ hungry, it was plain to see. They went straight into Cho's tent, grabbed a tray and proceeded to fill it to overflowing. They paid and sat at the nearest empty table, Harry impatiently waiting while Ron tasted his food first.

Remus exchanged an amused look with the Hufflepuff Tonks who had just gotten a seat near the boys, then he noticed what was on her tray—a mouthwatering array of spicy Thai dishes. Remus sent her a reproachful look. She knew Thai was his favorite foreign cuisine. A minute dragged by as he tried to ignore his stomach's plaintive pangs. When a fourth-year Hufflepuff walked by with a plate of General Tso's Chicken—Remus' favorite Chinese dish—his saliva glands went into overdrive. _Perfect._ Why did this pre-transformation time have to sharpen all his senses so painfully?

And there sat Tonks, still digging into her food. She flashed him a grin as she grabbed a spring roll, raised her eyebrows and bit into it. Remus gave her a look that must have been more desperate than he had intended, because her gaze melted into sympathy. She grabbed another spring roll and walked over to him. Remus stood up straight, shaking his head at her slightly. He hadn't expected her to approach him. He'd just been—what had he been doing? _Flirting,_ his inner Sirius said with a dry chuckle, _you sly dog._

Remus flushed uncomfortably, just as Tonks reached him. "For my favorite teacher," she said with an impish grin, then handed Remus a spring roll.

"Thank you," Remus said stiffly, then watched as she returned to her seat. He didn't know what to think of Nymphadora sometimes. _That's a lie, old Wolf. You know **exactly** what to think!_

Remus frowned. _She's much too young for me._ He shook his head and took a bite out of the spring roll, determined not to think along these lines. Especially when Tonks looked like a fifteen-year-old girl. It was . . . disturbing.

Remus moved his gaze back over to Harry's table and froze. Harry was gone. Remus jerked forward. The two opposing exits were clear—no Harry. The Auror slightly panicked, sprinting for Ron's table, crying out "Where's Harry?"

"Ginny got him," Ron said, then paused. He gestured at the half-eaten spring roll clutched in Remus' hand. "You do know that's not a w—"

"Which way?"

Lupin took off as soon as Ron gestured, desperate thoughts running through his mind—he'd lost Harry because he'd been flirting with Tonks instead of doing his job—Harry was in terrible danger—then realized he was running with a half-eaten spring roll. With self-disgust, he dashed the roll to the ground.

As soon as he caught sight of the flash of red in the alley next door, Remus stopped up short. _Oh_. Ginny had pulled Harry into there, and they were just talking. There was only one way into and out of the alley. Remus took a few deep breaths. He could cover them easily. He turned away, wanting to give them a bit of privacy. He nodded to Fred, who was walking down the path toward Cho's.

"Good sales?" he called over to him.

"Excellent. Seen Harry?" Behind Fred came Neville, who was listening to their conversation intently.

Remus indicated the alley behind him. "Having a . . . bit of a moment with Ginny."

Fred grinned evilly. "Oh, _really?"_

Neville looked at Fred uncomfortably. "I just wanted to tell Ginny that Violet's looking for her."

A low cry broke into Neville's words. _Harry._ Remus' stomach dropped like a stone. Fred was sprinting for the alley. Remus lurched to follow.

"What's wrong?" Neville cried.

Someone shrieked, "_AVADA KEDARVA!"_ over the roaring in Remus' head. The distance to the alley seemed interminable. Fred yelled. Screams erupted from Cho's tent and then Remus was in the alley, wand out, gasping.

Harry was stretched out flat on his back, looking pained and bloodied on one side of his face, but conscious. Had the Killing Curse missed—? Across from him, splayed out like a rag doll, was Ginny Weasley. Her eyes were open, face frozen in horror—dead.

Fred threw himself to the ground beside Harry. "Harry! My God, it worked. It worked! But who was your guard? Was it Ron? Harry, _where is Ron?"_

Harry stared at Fred dully, obviously on the very brink of unconsciousness. "He's in Cho's," Remus said as calmly as he could, then tapped his wand on the blob of wax attached to his watch. "Phoenix is down. All guards initiate hands-on."

Fred looked up to bark, "Check Ron!" to his twin, who had appeared beside him.

"Is that—" George began, but Fred cut him off with a shake of his head.

"Ron's in Cho's tent. GO!" George lunged for the tent and Neville jerked into action right behind him, crying, "Hermione—I'll get her!"

A strident voice came back to Remus from the blob of wax, "Did you say that Phoenix is _down?"_ McGonagall's query ended on a tremulous note.

"Yes, down." Remus looked again at the second body in the alley. A chocolate cupcake lay inches from her hand. Lupin stalked over to the body and kicked the cupcake over. It was uneaten. He tapped the blob of wax again. "Down, but recoverable."

Fred, pale, looked over to nod in agreement. "Check out that flask. Is that acid?" Lupin saw the almost empty flask and the way the lawn had been burned under it.

"Yes, not sure what type. Be careful," he cautioned as Fred pointed his wand at Harry's face, murmuring a cleansing spell.

"Professor Lupin!" Cho Chang was at the entrance to her tent, calling out tearfully. "George says to tell you that Ron's o-o-o—" she stuttered to a halt, staring in horror at Harry. "Oh my god . . ."

"Is Ron all right?" Fred asked urgently.

"Y-y-yes," Cho got out, one hand moving to cover her mouth, "What's wrong with Harrry?" There were gasps behind her and faces appeared in the tent entrance.

"Harry?" Luna asked, appearing at Cho's shoulder. Her impossibly wide eyes opened even wider. "No—he can't be."

Remus stepped forward, "He's going to be fine," he assured them, "don't panic." But more students were pushing out of the tent, and just then, someone saw Ginny's body. Screams erupted.

"Ginny's dead!"

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked as she ran from the other direction, throwing herself to the ground beside her friend. Neville led a band of Gryffindors behind her and the crowd began to fill in the area, their loud shouts or crying adding to the confusion.

"Professor," Hermione looked up to Remus, tears coursing down her cheeks, "what happened?"

He found he couldn't answer.

"No, that's not Ginny," Fred was shouting out to the crowd irritably. "Now, would some of you nitwits stop your bawling and go find her?"

"I will," said a very sober and pale-faced Collin Creevy, who had made his way to the front of the crowd, his camera hanging limply. He darted away amid shouts of "Let him through. Let him through!"

"How—how do you know that's not Ginny?" Hermione asked Fred in a low voice.

"Because it's not her," Fred said firmly. "Now. You need to go see Ron—in Cho's tent."

"Ron?" she asked weakly. The other Gryffindors took up the question as well.

"Where's Ron?"

"Cho," Fred barked out to the tearful girl, "take her." Cho held out a hand to Hermione and the crowd parted to let them through. Fred put a hand briefly on Harry's shoulder, then stood and stepped over to Remus. "Hundred Galleons says that's Vincent Crabbe," indicating Ginny's body with a jerk of his head.

Remus nodded grimly. "Somehow I suspect you're right. We need to find your sister." Fred's face contracted in worry. They both turned as there was a new disturbance at the other end of the pathway.

Bill Weasley stepped forward, Draco in hand. The Slytherin looked incensed; his face was unnaturally flushed and his body rigid. Immediately, his gaze went to Harry and his face drained to a ghastly pallor.

"Did _he_ do it?" someone yelled from the back and a cacophony of answered them.

"Bastard!"

"A Slytherin, of course!

"Nonsense," he roused himself to scoff at them, but his sneer looked sickly. "I was off polishing my halo."

"Shut it, you—"

"That's enough!" barked Mad-Eye as he came up through the middle of the crowd, toting Millicent Bulstrode as if she were a sack of potatoes. "Let the Aurors do their job."

"Charlie!"

"It's Charlie!" several voices cried.

Charlie Weasley gave a slight nod as he followed Mad-Eye, prodding Rawley Hughes from behind. Remus frowned at the fifth-year Slytherin, who was visibly shaking as he took in Harry's prone form. Something didn't add up with that boy. How had he ever been chosen to be one of the Seven Deadly Slytherins? Either Voldemort had been desperate, or there was something to that boy—something that had yet to come to light.

"See, it _was_ the Slytherins!"

Dean and Seamus moved to stand beside Remus, wands out, their gaze on the Slytherins.

"There's no need for that," Remus told them in what he hoped was a calm voice, though the crowd was becoming quite unruly as the Slytherins were led to one side. The other houses moved away from them, and hands were twitching at their wands. Remus found himself standing with Fred, Dean and Seamus in a semi-circle, guarding Harry's prone form carefully.

"Was it you, Bulstrode, eh?" Seamus shouted at her.

"Calm down, boys," Remus began, but his words were overrun by a sneer from Millicent herself.

"Your little boy hero is dead!" she taunted.

"No!" Remus projected loudly, but no one was listening.

The entire crowd erupted. Wands were out and angry students from every house yelled and surged toward Millicent. In seconds, they were plunged into a nightmare. Mad-Eye, Charlie and Bill found themselves guarding the students they were incarcerating moments before. Rawley cowered but the other Slytherins went for their wands. There was screaming. Spells flew towards the Slytherins, and deflected by the Aurors, went up into the air. Students scattered.

Remus, Fred, Dean and Seamus held their ground, wands out, shifting to follow the students as they panicked. No one was coming at them, but several spells had to be blocked.

Then—_SSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHH—BOOM!_

The light of a small star imploded in the air overhead, searing an image of itself into the mind of every unfortunate being that looked up. The thunderclap that followed drove Remus to his knees, its echoes reverberating inside his skull.

In the relative quiet that followed, only one figure moved through the moaning, writhing blur of students on the ground. Remus blinked several times, trying to see behind the bright flare of light that continued to impair his vision, but could only get the vaguest impression of the man approaching.

"I got here just in time," the wizard said with a slight accent, one that Remus couldn't immediately place. "Have the suspected students brought to my temporary office one at a time. And it seems Mr. Potter is in need of medical attention—again."

As the figure came nearer, Remus recognized the man as the Head Auror, Claude Fornier.

"I think it is time to clean out this school. Don't you agree, Headmaster?"

It was then that Remus realized Dumbledore was already at Harry's side, tenderly checking the boy's condition. After a moment, the wizened wizard looked up. "Oh. I quite agree," he said simply, but there was an unspoken challenge in his tone, and power seemed to radiate from his very being as he held the Head Auror's gaze.

The werewolf was no fool. He took four steps back and knelt beside Harry.

There was no telling what might happen next.


	24. Which Sounds More Dangerous to You?

Chapter Twenty-Two:

_Which Sounds More Dangerous to You?_

Harry felt like his entire body was being pricked by needles—that horrible feeling when blood is returning to a body part that had been asleep. But all over? He moved restlessly. Where was he? His eyes felt too heavy to open and those prickles—damn, his whole body must have been asleep. What had happened? He remembered Ginny, vaguely, and—pain. Moving a hand to his face, he felt smooth skin where he was sure there shouldn't be.

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. Through the haze of blurry light around him, figures were drawing near.

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore's voice greeted him lightly. "How are you feeling?"

"All right," he rasped. "I think."

"Here you go," Ginny whispered from beside him. She placed his glasses on for him, somehow knowing what he was looking for. He settled his glasses more securely, taking in at a glance Hermione's grim look, Fred's pale steadiness beside her, Lupin's obvious tiredness and Tonks, looking rather defeated in a Hufflepuff uniform. The Headmaster looked as he often did around Harry—twinkly-eyed but defeated around the edges.

"Harry. I'm sorry."

Harry looked back at Ginny, surprised to hear the unfamiliar note of helplessness in her voice. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Mad as hell, but fine," she retorted as several shades of red crossed her face.

A sudden burst of memory assaulted him, half-assembled. The girl who had pulled him out of the tent—that hadn't been the real Ginny. "_Where were you?"_

Ginny threw her hands in the air angrily. "Violet Hooch asked me to go with her and talk to Tobias because he was so depressed, but we never made it. Some one got the drop on us from behind. And if I _ever_ find out who did it—"

"She'll be a _good__girl_ and come tell me so I can have first dibs on killing them," Fred put in.

"Not likely," Ginny tossed back in clipped tones. Harry's mind was racing to fill in the blanks. He remembered now—the false Ginny throwing something at his face, something that burned. . .

"Violet and Ginny were both found unconscious behind the Hufflepuff Pasty Shop," Lupin went on to explain. "Neither was seriously injured."

"They only wanted me out of the way," Ginny seethed, before focusing back on Harry, "so they could use my face again! I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so bloody _sick_ of this!"

Harry clutched clumsily at her hand. "It's not your fault. I'm fine. But . . . I don't understand how exactly. Professor Dumbledore, Crabbe threw the Killing Curse at me. I tried to put up a shield, but I didn't think it would _work."_

"Indeed, it should have been impossible, my dear boy. But your shield deflected the _Avada Kedavra."_

"Deflected it? Then—Crabbe?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Vincent Crabbe was killed by his own curse."

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. "I couldn't dodge it. I was afraid it would hit someone behind me, like Neville in Defense Against the Dark Arts Class. So I tried to block it. I knew it wouldn't be strong enough. And I remember very distinctly that the shield was failing and then—" Harry shut his eyes briefly, trying to remember. "A silver light came from somewhere and . . . strengthened it. Does that make any sense at all?"

The glance passing between Dumbledore and Lupin made Harry pause. Hermione was holding her hands to her mouth, crying. She'd been silent this whole time. Why was she . . .

Harry felt the world suddenly tilt beneath him. _"Where's Ron?"_

As everyone's gaze slid to Harry's left, he turned to look there, too—and stopped breathing. Ron—pale and terribly still—was lying in the bed across the aisle. And the missing pieces slid into place with an almost audible click.

"That spell . . ." Harry breathed, turning back to Ginny, who stared back at him with a closed look. "Is _that_ was the spell is about? The bloody Bodyguard Spell?"

"Harry, you must stay calm," Professor Dumbledore warned in a low voice. Harry turned to him.

"Why? Someone tell me! What does the spell do? _What did it do to him?"_ He looked wildly from one face to the next.

"Oh, Harry," Tonks murmured and walked away from the bed.

The Headmaster stepped up to the bed. "All your questions will be answered. The _Fraterdum Singletus_ is a spell of fidelity and brotherhood, one that has been used to magically bind the Weasleys to you. It was adapted and administered, quite without my knowledge, to allow the many to support the One."

"_What?" _

Dumbledore raised a calming hand. "It is an archaic bodyguard spell, used in times of great necessity. It allows the guard to give magical energy or anything else needed to the One they choose to support."

"'Anything else?'" Harry repeated, suddenly feeling the bed falling away behind him. "You mean, I took . . . from Ron to make that shield? Because he was my bodyguard?" Harry's voice cracked.

"Yes, that would seem to be the case. Making you, incidentally, the only person to have ever survived the Killing Curse once or twice."

But Harry wasn't smiling. "And the Weasleys knew this would happen?" He turned burning eyes on Ginny. "You helped do this?"

"Yes."

Harry sat up jerkily, clutching at the bedclothes for balance. "Then take it off."

"I can't," Ginny said edgily.

Harry ignored the buzzing in his ears that sounded like Hermione pleading and Lupin giving rational advice. He only had eyes for the beautiful traitor in front of him, whose face was turning bright red except for the white ring around her set mouth—a danger sign he had no intention of heeding.

"Take it off. TAKE IT _OFF!" _

"No! You pig-headed clot, will you just for _once_ let someone help you—" Ginny began.

"TAKE IT OFF RIGHT NOW OR I'LL—"

Jabbing pain stole Harry's breath, cutting him off abruptly. He fell back as though his strings had been cut.

"Don't you _dare_ fly at my parents like that for doing this or I will bloody well kick your arse whether you're the One or not!"

Ginny sucked in a deep breath and went on longer—far too long considering Harry was just trying to breathe.

From the next bed, Ron groaned.

"Oh, Ginny—stop it! You're only making it worse!" Hermione flung in their general direction and fled to Ron's side. Ginny finally stopped, or just ran out of words. She was standing there, fairly vibrating as Fred ventured close enough to pull her away.

"Let him rest," he murmured, "he just got off dying, you idiot."

Harry was focusing on not passing out. Over the quiet sound of Ginny's sobbing, he heard The Headmaster approaching, and from the other side of the bed, the brisk footfalls of Madame Pomfrey. Professor Dumbledore laid a cool, dry hand on Harry's brow and the pain in his abdomen loosened its deathgrip. Harry pulled in a deeper breath, despite the guilt sitting heavily on his chest. Or maybe that was leftover pain from the curse binding his ribcage in fire. He couldn't tell which.

"As if he needed anything more to yell about," Madame Pomfrey chided as she bent over him. "Worst case of magical depletion I've ever seen and here you stand, baiting him. _Out!"_

As his friends called whispered goodbyes, Harry took the offered pain potion gratefully. Waves of exhaustion, anger, guilt and pain were taking it in turns to make him miserable. How could the Weasleys do this to him? Madame Pomfrey straightened his covers, patted his hand and gave the Headmaster a stern look. "One minute and no more theatrics."

"Yes, Poppy," the Headmaster said obediently. Madame Pomfrey nodded, satisfied, and then walked briskly away. Harry listened to her footfalls, the seething mass of pain in his gut now down to a dull ache. He waited for the Headmaster's words, hoping they would give him some dim understanding of how to deal with this new wrinkle in the tattered fabric of his life—oxygen alone wasn't doing the trick.

The Headmaster spoke in his most gentle voice. "I'm sorry, but Miss Weasley was telling you the truth: there is no way to reverse the spell."

Harry stared at him in slowly-mounting horror. _"Why?_ Why would they do this? What if I lose?"

"Courage, Harry. This spell was not meant to burden you," Professor Dumbledore said with a smile. "The Weasleys are trying to show their faith in you, in your ultimate triumph, and they mean only to give you an added incentive."

_Ultimate__Triumph?_ The words echoed in Harry's mind. He covered his face in his hands. "What . . . incentive?"

"That of giving you something to live for. They fear, as I do, that you will whole-heartedly throw yourself into the battle and care not what happens to yourself afterward." Harry dropped his hands, staring at the familiar ceiling. He had to admit that he had gone far beyond caring in many ways what happened to himself in the end. Except when he thought of Ginny . . . there he was hopelessly entangled in the future he desired with her. But . . .

"Now, with this spell active, you _must_ take care of yourself if you would have your friends survive."

Tears threatened, and Harry blinked several times. He already had the fate of the whole world on his hands. Did it _have_ to get more personal? His biggest fear was Voldemort getting his claws into one of his friends and using them against him. Now that didn't even have to happen for Harry to be responsible for their deaths. He simply had to need their magical energy, their adrenaline, their . . . blood . . .

_Oh god. _

"There has to be a safeguard," Harry said forcefully. "There must be."

"Yes. That was the adaptation they made, Harry. The need will travel from one Weasley to the next until the need is met." The Headmaster nodded, answering Harry's unspoken question. "Ginny also contributed some of her own energy to help shield you tonight. It was apparently your own quite substantial magical force as well as nearly all of Ron's added to a small part of Ginevra's that led to your second escape from the Killing Curse. Quite remarkable and perhaps something to be grateful for, don't you think?"

Guilt hit him again, this time with the prick of a four-inch needle directly to his heart. He covered his face with his hands again. He couldn't process it. His mind just could not wrap itself around such . . .

A wave of exhaustion hit him, pulling him down into a drugged stupor. He wanted to think more about the consequences of their actions, but his eyelids were so heavy . . . even heavier than his heart.

"Sleep, my boy. You will feel better when you wake. And then, we will deal with these . . . Slytherins."

Harry heard the words as if from a far distance, and they stayed with him as he slept. He dreamed of endless ways of _dealing_ with Slytherins, none of them involving endangering Weasleys.

That night Harry woke suddenly, shaking his head to clear it. He felt so much better that he was certain his sleep had just sucked more magic—or something else—from his friends. When would that stop? How had he never noticed it before? He'd been injured plenty of times. But then again, maybe not this bad since the Weasleys had become his bodyguards. Maybe it only came into play because it had been an _Avada Kedavra_ cast his way.

He still didn't know what to think about what they had done. It made him feel . . . different. He was always trying to protect those around him, and suddenly, the best way to protect them was to protect himself?

"Harry Potter, sir?"

Harry jerked violently. Dobby was floating there, pale and translucent.

"Dobby! Where have you _been?"_ Harry whispered sternly. "I thought you were supposed to be watching out for me."

"Dobby is sorry, Mr. Harry Potter, sir, for failing you so miserably!" Dobby wailed, but quietly so that Harry, for once, didn't have to shush him, "Dobby is a bad, bad House Elf ghost. But Dobby is still having to guard poor Winky, sir. It is needing to be done."

"Winky?" It took a moment for Harry to remember that someone had been threatening the poor elf. "Oh. Have you found out who was behind all the problems?"

"Yes, sir, but it is not making very much sense to poor Dobby. It is Duffy who is doing it."

"Wait—I remember him. He was all for getting freed when I was down there last. What made him turn against Winky?"

"Dobby is not knowing! Winky is not knowing, either. Duffy has said he is never doing anything to Winky, but Dobby knows he is lying."

"Has he taken clothes yet?"

"No, sir, Harry Potter, sir."

"Then perhaps Professor Dumbledore should ask him. He wouldn't be able to lie to his master. Would he?"

Dobby grew more agitated, wringing his ghostly hands. "But Duffy has already talked with the Headmaster and it is not doing any good. Duffy is still lying."

"Is there any way I can help?" Harry asked hopelessly.

Dobby hesitated. "Dumbledore is saying that House Elves need to take care of House Elf problems or they will never truly be free. Do you think this?"

"Er . . . I think that's the way it usually works. But I can still come down there if you need me."

Dobby straightened up at once, his tennis ball eyes shining brightly. "Oh, thank you, Harry Potter, sir, but Dobby—Dobby is handling it."

"Good. So, er . . . have you followed Draco at all, then?"

"Oh, yes, sir! And I is having something to report."

"Finally," Harry muttered.

"He is going to see the Head Auror."

"Claude Fornier? At the Ministry? Why?"

"No, Harry Potter—here at Hogwarts. The Aurors are here because Harry Potter almost died, and the Headmaster is beside himself," the house elf said in a whisper. "He is letting the Head Auror meet with students. Bad past-master was in his office because he is being a Slytherin and he is fighting with his wand when everyone fought because . . . because of Harry Potter almost dying," he said in a hushed whisper, his eyes suddenly swimming in tears again. "Oh, Dobby is so glad you are better, good Mister Harry Potter!"

"Yes, but—what's this about Draco?"

"When bad little past-master came out of the Auror's office, he was not well, not at all. He had been Cursed."

"Are you certain? Did you hear anything?"

"'_Silencio!'_ is what Dobby heard," the elf said soberly, drifting toward the floor. "And when the past-master came out, he was white and shaking and there was blood on his lips."

Harry lay back on the pillow, sudden nausea making him ill. His skin prickled and a shudder went through his body. "How many Aurors were in there?"

"Just the Head Auror, Harry Potter."

Harry took a deep breath. "Still. He could have done . . . anything to him. Why?" Harry was sickened. "Why would Fornier do that? Why would Snape let him? Did you watch to see if Draco went to visit Snape after that?"

"No, he did not. Bad past-master cleaned himself up and went back to his room, slowly. Is Harry Potter sad? Dobby was not sad. Dobby is bad House Elf ghost," he said with conviction.

"No, that's all right. Don't punish yourself!"

Dobby hesitated, hand on nose. "It does not really work as well now that Dobby is a House Elf Ghost. That is bad."

"I don't think so."

Dobby grinned, just a little bit and then went off with promises to report about Draco to Dumbledore. Harry laid there for a while, trying to adjust his picture of what was happening in the school.

Apparently there'd been another catastrophic incident between the houses after Harry had gone unconscious and Fornier was ensconced in the school as part of heightened security measures. Draco was in a worse spot than ever. He'd finally gotten the Slytherins to trust him and now the Head Auror was making his life a living hell again. It sounded as if Fornier had been vicious and out-of-line, but then anyone would generally assume Draco was the head of the SDSes instead of an outsider trying to help Harry and betray them. And maybe Fornier's actions would make the Slytherins think again before trying again—not that anything else had seemed to work.

Long before Harry had decided whether or not the Head Auror's presence would ultimately be a good or bad thing, he found himself drifting back to sleep. His dreams were haunted by a half-transformed, snake-like Narcissa and Claude Fornier doing a waltz while Draco stood chained to the wall, watching.

It was such a disconcerting dream that Harry was grateful to wake to the quiet darkness of the Infirmary later, sucking in a deep breath of relief before he realized something blurry was sitting lightly on his chest. Stifling a cry, he tried to grab at his glasses without moving the thing unnecessarily. It seemed harmless and sort of soft, but—

"_Meoowwww."_

Confused but hopeful, Harry managed to get at his glasses and keep a hand on the cat at the same time. Once his vision was restored, a smile crept up his cheeks. A tawny cat with bright brown eyes and white boots on its paws sat serenely, watching him from its perch on his chest. With an imperious expression, it—she lifted a dainty paw and licked carefully at the fur there, though the gesture seemed too tentative to do much actual good. In fact, she looked less as if she was trying to clean herself and more as if she were trying to convince someone that she was an actual cat. It was so much like the dream Harry had seen once before, in what seemed like ages ago, that he had to laugh.

"Ginny? What are you doing here—and like that?"

Instantly, the cat dropped her paw and stared at him in a decidedly affronted manner—again just like the dream. She dug her claws into his chest, the pain chasing away his smile.

"Ouch! What was that for?" She hissed at him so angrily that Harry jumped. Then, he remembered. "Oh. Because I yelled at you?" She retracted her claws. Harry sighed. "I'm sorry. I . . . just hated that I hurt you and Ron without even knowing it and that it's likely it will happen again. I don't want that."

The cat stared at him with wide open brown eyes, not blinking, for so long that Harry felt self-conscious.

"What?" But he _had_ just spilled his guts to a cat, hadn't he? And said something easily that Ginny might never have gotten out of him otherwise. Just as he was about to start babbling an excuse, the cat stepped closer and licked his nose. Her breath wasn't very cat-like—not fishy or bad like Crookshanks' had usually been—just warm and sweet and her nose was a bit cold where she rubbed it against his cheek.

"That tickles," he murmured, but was more comforted than bothered by her closeness as she began to settle down by his shoulder. He lied back on the bed and let her circle and paw at the mattress to her heart's content. "Why do cats do that, anyhow?" She didn't answer, but flopped down inelegantly right on his nose. "Hey, budge over," he protested, scooting her off his face. "Your aim is a bit off."

She sniffed at him, flopped down again and set at once to licking at her back, one white-booted paw in the air. Harry watched her with interest. "You know you don't have to do that to convince me." She didn't stop, and he watched her until his eyes started to cross.

He yawned and slid his glasses back on the table beside his bed. "You ought to have a cat name, you know, so that I don't give away who you are. Boots, maybe?" She started to purr against him. "Boots it is, then. Staying here all night?" He stretched and felt her slide into place beside him. Not wanting her to have to resettle, he turned on his side and cupped her body between his chest and knees. It was nice, if a bit strange, to know that his girlfriend was here, even if she was furry and had a tail. "G'night, Boots," he whispered, mind drifting to years past, when as a boy in the closet under the stairs, he had wished for a pet.

Harry fell asleep to the sound of purring and the feel of soft paws flexing and pushing gently against his chest. He slept better than he had in weeks.

When he woke, Boots was gone and Madame Pomfrey was standing by his bedside with a draught of medicine to start the day. Far from well, Harry spent most of that day recuperating, welcoming Ron back to the land of the living and apologizing many times for sucking half the life out of his best friend.

"'not your fault, mate," Ron said cheerfully, though his freckled face was still far too wan for a real smile. "Bill was the one who started the whole thing this summer. Remember that drop of blood you gave to him, so he could do that test to see how far you'd recovered? Yeah, well, he took two drops. One for the test and one to set up the bodyguard spell. Or—no wait, I think it was three, actually. One for the test, one for the bodyguard spell and one so Charlie could charm that kidney stone so we'd know how you are all the time."

"Without me even noticing?"

"Obviously you don't you know Bill very well," George put in from, grinning. The twins, Ginny and Hermione had come in to see Harry and Ron, leftovers from breakfast in hand. "If he doesn't want you to notice something, you don't. How else do you think he got to be Head Boy?"

Harry shook his head, and his gaze naturally moved over to Ginny, who was pale, but gave him a brief, secretive smile.

"So, how many Slytherins did you say got expelled?" Harry looked over at Hermione. She was feeding Ron a pudding.

"Twelve, but don't get too excited. None of them were the ones who _should_ have been expelled. And there were ten Gryffindors, six Ravenclaws and three Hufflepuffs as well. They expelled anyone who'd thrown dangerous curses during the fighting. The ones who threw defensive shields or basic defensive hexes didn't get expelled."

"Or yours truly would have been gone," Fred spoke up, "and most of the other Weasleys as well."

"At least the ones that were conscious," Ginny growled, then turned to glare at Harry. "And by the way, _why_ is it that when you were passing out those spiffy little hand gestures to everyone before, I was the only one who didn't get one? If I'd had one, then you would've know it was me from the get-go, instead of following Crabbe-as-me into a dark and steamy alley."

Harry stared at her, mouth slightly open. She was right; he'd never given her a sign to give him whenever they met so he would know it was her. And all the others had been forgetting to do theirs.

"You're right. I should have. I'm sorry."

"Of course you are."

Harry took a deep breath. "And I'm sorry for . . . not being grateful for the bodyguard spell." There was a marked silence in the room, and Harry couldn't meet anyone's eyes. He'd already said it to Ginny, but he knew the rest of them deserved to hear some of it, too. "It's . . ."

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Harry blinked his eyes several times hoping they would dry out and then he found his lap full of Ginny. She threw her arms around him and pressed her face into his neck.

"We know," she whispered, "you don't have to say it."

Harry hugged her back, tucking her head under his chin and reveling in the feeling of peace she brought just by her nearness. She felt so small and he once again vowed to keep her safe. Which meant, confusingly enough, partly keeping himself safe. _Odd._

"I know what my sign should be," she said, nuzzling against his neck. "I'll just say, this—_Meow."_ Harry felt a zinging heat go through him at the sudden reminder of the dream, remembering rather uncomfortably now (since her brothers were in the room) that the dream had ended with her undressed. "And if I can't say it out loud, I'll just mouth it."

"Perfect," Harry whispered back in a husky voice, breathing in the fresh scent of her faintly-damp, just-shampooed hair.

There was more nuzzling, but as a mass exodus took place, and Ron discreetly took a slow turn around the room (limiting himself to one disgusted noise on the way), no one was witness to the sweet, slow kisses that marked Harry's true return to the land of the living and reminded him of exactly why it was so, so very good to be alive.

He fairly floated through the afternoon as Ginny kept him company, helping with water or whatever he needed, giving him a lingering kiss whenever he looked too pale or seemed to need it. (He might have pretended one or two of those times, but who could blame him?) Life was good. That is, until that night, just after supper, when Hermione arrived at the Infirmary breathless and waving a Daily Prophet. "You're _not_ going to believe this!"

"I don't like the sound of that," Ginny said, sitting up in the chair beside Harry's bed and putting away her Transfiguration text.

Harry was perfectly happy to halt his Wizarding Chess game where he'd been getting spanked by Ron. "What is it?"

"Can't it wait?" Ron groused.

In response, Hermione tossed down the paper and waited, hands on hips. Harry read with mounting disbelief.

_Poppycock! And You Can Quote Me On That!_

_ This quote comes directly from the Wizarding Prime Minister Cornelius Fudge, who was incensed at the rumors that Harry Potter, the Wizarding World's youngest and most beloved hero, has again survived the Killing Curse. __"Impossible!"  
shouted the Minister as he was followed by this reporter following a speaking engagement at the Royal Bramblebury Peppermint League's Annual Bazaar. "Absolute balderdash! What sort of nincompoop would believe an idiotic story like that? The boy's gone mad, trying to put that over on us. __Mad!"_

_ The report came from Head Auror, Claude Fornier, who watched the Minister's slight tantrum with a sardonic smile and said only, "I believe it to be the truth, Minister. You might want to revise your statement."_

_ The minister turned to this reporter and said, "Poppycock! And you can quote me on that!"_

_ After the Minister had been bustled away by a contingent of Aurors, Mr. Fornier stayed behind to explain the facts behind the rumors. First hand, he saw the disastrous results of a duel between Harry Potter and classmate Vincent Crabbe. Crabbe, son of Brody Crabbe of Hanglington Heights, was dead on the scene, the victim of not a spell of Potter's, but of his own deflected Killing Curse._

_ "Potter did not send the Killing Curse," Fornier, a tall, dark and handsome wizard, said decisively. "We investigated that possibility right away, of course. Who would want their hero running around killing students? That's a recipe for disaster. As it is, parents who send their children to Hogwarts are in arms over the previous deaths of two Slytherin students this term, all in some connection with Potter." _

"'Some connection with Potter?'" Ginny interrupted. "What the bloody hell is he up to? He _knows_ Narcissa killed Pansy! He was here when she was caught!" Ginny's eyes blazed at Harry.

"Yeah," Ron echoed loudly. "What's he doin'?"

Harry folded up the paper and banged it down on the table pulled across his bed, causing one of his pieces to topple. The small black knight straightened himself, huffing loudly and rather melodramatically. "I have no idea what Fornier's game is, but he's got his own agenda, that's for sure." Harry then confided in his friends about Draco's debilitating visit to the Auror's office.

Hermione made a hmmming sound. "That makes no sense. Fornier is questioning your innocence in the paper, but then while he's at Hogwarts, he ignores you and spends his time working Draco over?"

"Yeah, doesn't make much sense, but finally—an Auror with his priorities straight," Ron barked out a laugh.

"Maybe he's only waiting until I'm out of the Infirmary to work me over."

"Just let him try," Ginny snapped, and Harry smiled at her briefly before moving on.

"Has Fornier called other students in?"

"Yes, all those who were expelled, all the Slytherins and a few others, mostly Prefects," Hermione added. "Neville and I were called in right away, mostly to answer questions about your behavior toward the Slytherins before and after the deaths occurred."

"_All_ the Slytherins?"

"Yeah. I think he's doing a brilliant job—shaking up all those nasty Slytherins. Maybe he'll force the Seven Death-Eaters-in-Training to give up," Ron said, eyebrows raised. "I still say it's not a bad thing to go after Draco like that."

"Ron! Draco's completely helpless right now," Hermione chided him. "Someone should tell the Headmaster about this."

"Dobby already has," Harry assured her. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will put a stop to it."

"I wish he'd put a stop to the bloody SDSes," Ron groused. "How many more of them are there?"

"Three."

"No. There are four," Hermione corrected Ginny.

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, let's start at the beginning. We know that the SDSes are going down the list of the Seven Deadly Sins," Hermione began. "Pansy was Lust. Goyle was Greed. Crabbe was Gluttony."

"Oh, I get it," Ron nodded thoughtfully, "'cause it was with a cupcake."

"_And_ Blaise's attempt with Anger," Ginny said pointedly. "That makes four."

"Yeah," Ron chimed in.

"Er—no," Harry hesitantly broke in. "I don't think Blaise has had his attempt yet."

"What?" Ron exploded. "Then what the bloody hell was all that with Tobias? They had you surrounded!"

"But nobody threw the Killing Curse, did they? And besides that, Blaise said himself it was just to get me off-balance, make me angry."

"Worked," Ron observed.

"Are you _sure_ he didn't just muff his attempt and say all that to play it off?" Ginny said despairingly.

"Pretty sure."

"Very sure," Hermione added. "Let's not forget, if he'd tried and failed already, he would be dead."

Ginny sighed and slid her hand inside Harry's. "You're right, of course. But Blaise has been expelled. For all we know, he _is_ dead. After all, it took us a while to find out about Goyle." Everyone exchanged startled looks. "At least for now, Blaise isn't here and his plans must have been, at the very least, derailed. So perhaps there will only be three after all."

"Possibly," Hermione agreed, then went on. "The four remaining deadly sins are Anger, Sloth, Pride and Envy."

"Sloth? Isn't that one of them things that hangs on by its claws to the trees and moves slower than Mad-Eye Moody on the toilet? One of them is going to try to kill Harry now?" Ron looked from one face to the next. "_What?_ That's a sloth, I know it is."

"Sloth, dear brother, means laziness," Ginny leaned across Harry to say.

Ron stared at her. "So someone's going to try to kill Harry by being lazy? How does _that_ work?"

Harry was grinning. "You know, I think I might be able to handle that attempt."

"The point, Ron, is that laziness, or sloth," Hermione said pointedly, "is a sin according to the church and the penalty for it, as well as all sin, is death. I'm not sure what the Slytherins will make of that in their plans, but then, I don't see how envy could be deadly, either."

"Yeah, but look at Pansy. She managed to make Lust deadly, didn't she? And completely miserable for Harry as well." Ron added. "I would've thought that at least _that_ one would have been fun. _Damn Slytherins."_

The day that Harry and Ron were to be allowed back to their dormitory dawned bright and cold, foreshadowing the gentlest beginnings of winter. Classes had again been interrupted, but were to resume the next day. Harry spent the day in restless rest, gladly gathering his things together when Madame Pomfrey finally declared both Ron and him fit. A few minutes later, Harry was surprised to see Professor Dumbledore arrive at his bedside.

"Is something wrong, Headmaster?"

"Oh no, Harry, everything is as well as can be expected. I am merely here to see you safely to your room."

Harry's eyes grew wide, and he looked over at Ron to see if his mate had any idea of what was happening. Ron shrugged.

"We're here," called Hermione's voice from over by the door, and suddenly the Infirmary boasted a dozen more students with bright smiles—all Gryffindors. Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George, Dean, Neville, Katie and the rest of the Quidditch team were standing there, wands at the ready.

Ginny came over to the beds nonchalantly. "So—Ron, Harry. Feel up to a walk?"

"What's going on?"

"Nothing," she lied and picked up his schoolbooks.

"I can carry those on my own," he objected, reaching for them, but she stepped smartly away.

"Don't worry, _I'm_ not carrying them. Wouldn't want to hurt your precious ego," she said quietly so only he could hear. "The boys wanted to help." She moved back to the door and passed out his books to the Gryffindor boys.

"Come on, Harry, we haven't got all night," Katie said loudly, but with a smile.

Professor Dumbledore smiled at Harry. "Both of you follow me and we will give those Slytherins something to think about." Again, Harry and Ron exchanged a quick questioning look. Ron gestured for Harry to lead, and he did, taking a deep breath and picking up his bag of toiletries and such.

The other Gryffindors greeted him and let him pass through, only to re-form in an arrowhead once they were all through the doors. The two unfamiliar wizards who had apparently been standing at the door followed immediately behind Professor Dumbledore, and Harry walked behind them, flanked by Fred and George. Behind him was Ron, flanked by Hermione and Ginny. Past them came the rest of their friends. The entire group had their wands out and at the ready.

Harry flexed his wrist and his wand popped out. The poison antidote still rested reassuringly tight around his left bicep. He felt ready . . . but was soon overwhelmed.

At the first stairwell, the D.A. stood lined up against the wall. Each of them nodded at Harry and joined the group at the rear as they passed. Harry looked back to see the large group stretching back like a parade. All they needed was Muggle commentators and a purple dinosaur float.

It seemed funny, and a bit unnecessary, to Harry until they hit the ground floor and headed toward the Great Hall. Students who had been walking purposefully in one direction or another suddenly stopped and stared open-mouthed at the sight of Professor Dumbledore leading a procession, wand out and forward.

"It's Harry," he began to hear, repeated over and over, in whispers and shouts. "Look!" A disturbance up by the Great Hall turned out to be a groundswell of students rushing out to see them.

"_He's all right!"_

"_Harry!"_

"_HARRY!"_

The shouts grew to a roar, the atrium began to fill and just as Harry was beginning to panic, a bright, sizzling beacon of light burst forth from the tip of Headmaster's wand, painting the walls and all those beneath them a brilliant, blinding white. Students froze and cries died in their throats.

As the light slowly faded to a glow, an unnatural silence fell, spreading backwards into the Great Hall itself. Not a sound was made. Everyone blinked, trying to see again, and Harry felt the twins reach for him, making sure of his presence.

"I'm fine," he breathed, though it was several moments before he could see normally again. Around the procession, the students looked stunned, but still intensely interested in Harry's presence. Slowly, Professor Dumbledore began to move forward again and the tide of faces fell away as silently as the wind bows a field of wheat.

Harry half-wanted to apologize, but didn't dare break the silence. A group of Slytherins stood frozen by the doors to the Great Hall, watching with emotionless faces as Harry walked by. Draco, alone among them, kept his eyes down.

The long hallway seemed even longer than normal, and Harry was relieved to finally reach the stairs. The Headmaster continued the way up, his light steady, his figure strong and the parade of followers followed.

As they reached the third flight, Harry suddenly realized why he hadn't seen any other Gryffindors along the way. Up ahead, stretching from the fourth floor stairs and up as far as he could see, his housemates lined the path. For the first time, a smile lit his face, and a lump large as a bezoar stuck in his throat.

As soon as the Headmaster reached the first Gryffindor, they all started cheering. Harry found himself shaking hands that reached around Fred and George and calling out thanks again and again. The Gryffindors all piled around the parade until it began to get dangerously crowded all along the stairs. Harry had to be pushed up ahead by Fred and George just to squeeze through at the top. The clamouring and cheering only grew louder as they approached the Common Room door, as the hallway was lined by Harry's house mates as well.

At the door, Dumbledore stepped back and gave Harry a smile. He looked winded, but there was the light of pride in his eyes. "Welcome home, Harry. You'll be very safe here now. You have my word on it."

Harry, who was feeling a very disturbing mix of elation, exuberance, pride and teary-eyed gladness at being welcomed so heartily, simply nodded as words were so far beyond him.

He did that most of the rest of the night, at the welcoming party and afterwards in the dorm room. It was a great party, full of too much food and no talk of anything serious. But there were two very surprising moments: first, when Tobias stepped up to Harry manfully and shook his hand, all the while choking out thanks and sorrys and glad-you're-okays so rapidly that Harry nearly laughed once he understood him—but tousled his hair fondly instead—and second, Katie's announcement.

Tobias stepped away to tame his hair just as Katie called for attention from up on the first landing of the stairs. Once everyone's head was turned her way, she yelled that she was back to captain the Quidditch team. Deafening cheers resounded across the Common Room. She then welcomed Harry and Ron back and confessed it was their near-death experience that had prompted her to forgive Ron completely. Ron thanked her and said he was ready to follow orders—yelled or not. The whoops and hollers following soon lead to excited speculation about the season and how the team would fare in their first match of the season against Ravenclaw.

As the conversation ran down, Harry found himself once again accosted by Tobias, this time with a steadier, more determined look in his brown eyes. "What I meant to say before was that I'm glad you're okay, Harry and I'm sorry for not thanking you for helping me before. I was just a bit . . . messed up. You know."

"Of course," Harry hastened to say, "I do understand. Really. It's fine."

"And I promise to watch your back, like you asked at the beginning of the year in that speech. I'm determined to help you like you helped me. I promise. It's that important to me."

Harry wanted to sigh at another promise to protect him—it was really beginning to be quite a burden to be so well looked-after—but he managed to smile and say thanks. Tobias grinned, said thanks in return again, and went off out of sight. Harry was glad the first year was finding his feet again. He really was. But he truly, truly hoped the boy would be nowhere near him if/when the SDSes struck again.

Exhaustion suddenly came calling and Harry could stave off the inevitable no longer. He tried to conjure a moment alone with Ginny—but that's all it was—the barest of moments with a good night kiss at the end.

Any lingering elation immediately deflated when he came in and saw Seamus' empty bed.

"He threw a pretty vicious Bludgeoning Curse at Bulstrode after she bragged that you were dead," Dean explained soberly. "Wish I'd been mad enough to do it, too. Glad you're both back."

"Yeah. It's been awful with all three of you gone," Neville put in.

Ron and Harry put their things away, surprised to hear from their dorm mates that besides those Gryffindors missing because of suspension, more students had been pulled out of school by nervous parents over the past few days—including the Patil twins, and Violet Hooch. Harry hadn't even noticed their absence in the all the clamour, but he felt the worst about Seamus.

Despite that, it was a relief for the boys to be back in their familiar beds and it was easy to fall asleep. Dobby again woke Harry to report, but had nothing new on Draco's condition. The boy had remained in his room for most of the day until dinner when Harry had seen him. The only person who had gone in his room was Millicent Bulstrode. Not a good sign. Harry was going to have to find a way to communicate with Draco, but finding a way to do that unobserved was a puzzle.

Especially since there were now Aurors roaming the halls. Harry wasn't sure whether to feel oppressed or heartened by the presence of the men and women in charcoal gray robes, wands at the ready. Several of them nodded at him on his way to breakfast, as if they'd been watching particularly for him.

Dumbledore seemed very serious about Harry's safety now. But to that end, what neither Harry nor any of his friends could figure out was how none of the remaining Seven Deadly Slytherins had gotten kicked out.

"I'm dead sure Seamus only threw that Bludgeoning Curse because Millicent nearly hit him with one herself," Dean spoke up at breakfast.

"Yeah, and if Fornier's not here to get rid of the Slytherins, then what the bloody hell _is_ the point?" Ron said, pausing to yawn widely.

Ginny grinned. "Well, maybe he likes tap-dancing around the Great Hall."

Laughter spread down the table. It was true that Claude Fornier's walk was just odd enough to make his footfalls in the Great Hall sound like Irish dancing, each time going toe-heel, toe-heel, toe-heel as he went.

"Draco looks terrible this morning," Hermione observed. "No—don't look at him all at once! But do take a look when you can."

Harry waited a moment and then glanced at the Slytherins table. Oddly enough, one of the Twitchtie girls was sitting on the end closest to Draco, in direct opposition to the usual hierarchy of Slytherin eating habits. A first year eating with a sixth year? Draco himself looked ill and jittery and was staring down at the table as if he expected to be devoured by it at any second. Whatever Fornier was doing to him, it was working.

The Twitchtie girl was chewing her food thoughtfully and surreptitiously watching Draco. Why? On the other side of Draco, Milicent, Nott and Hughes

Harry clued back into the conversation just as Ginny was getting on Ron. "Has it ever occurred to you that he has just as much information about Harry and how he's avoided the past attempts as he does about the SDSes? If Draco tells Fornier everything, it could be really bad."

"Bad for who?" Ron insisted. "Harry, Draco or the SDSes?"

"Harry."

"But, he isn't going after Harry!"

"Not yet," Hermione mused.

"Why would he? Harry hasn't done anything wrong. Fornier's an Auror," Neville continued hesitatingly, "isn't he one of the good wizards?"

Silence reigned at the table for a long moment, and several of them turned to look up at the Head Table, where Fornier was engrossed in an apparently amusing discussion with Trelawney. The dark man smoothed his beard and then reached for his glass of wine.

"We hope so," Harry finally summed up.

"But we know they can be compromised," Hermione reminded them, "after all, it was Kingsley Shackelbolt who helped the Death Eaters tear down the protection at Privet Drive this summer, remember?"

"Bloo—dy hell. I knew it wasn't a good sign when the Defense teacher ended up being a sweet old lady who worships the ground Harry walks on," Ron said morosely. "I _knew_ it meant someone else was going to show up later on and do bad, bad things. But at least he started with Draco. That's something."

"Ron, _really_—this is—" Hermione began when she was interrupted by Ginny.

"Wait—what's he up to?" Ginny pointed back at the Teachers' Table.

Claude Fornier had just rounded the Teachers' Table and was tapping his strange toe-heel, toe-heel way to the front of the room. A few giggles spread around the room, bringing a frown to Fornier's face.

He raised his hands for silence and got it. "As I have stated to you in my previous talks, some additional safety measures need to be taken in order for this school to operate . . . safely. Professor Dumbledore has graciously allowed me to rule on a very important decision just this morning. This year," he lingered over the words, "Quidditch has been cancelled."

Harry had been contemplating the fact that he had apparently missed some previous Fornier safety chats when the man's last words finally sank in. The announcement met with a stunned silence, followed by a loud, widespread outcry.

"_WHAT!"_

For the Gryffindors, who had just secured Katie's return to captaining, this was especially horrific. And as Harry listened to Fornier's lilting accent explain the needed security crackdown, something . . . just _snapped. _Harry stood up.

"_No."_

With that one word, he secured the attention of the entire student body. They swiveled as one to stare at him.

"Pardon me, Harry Potter, is there something you would like to say?"

"Yes. Don't cancel Quidditch."

The man shook his head as though he had misunderstood him, then turned to the Headmaster. "I assure you, Professor Dumbledore, that this is a necessary step in protecting—"

"Me?" Harry interrupted. "Then let me assure _you_, it's not necessary."

"Alas, the entire world does not revolve around you and your ego," the dark man returned with a snide smile, and a ripple of gasps went around the room.

"Nor does it revolve around yours, Mr. Fornier," Professor Dumbledore stood to his feet at the Head Table and turned to Harry. "Enough of this. What is it you would like to say, Harry? You certainly deserve our attention."

Harry took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to think of the right words, but they wouldn't come. "I'm tired of being the reason everything is turned upside-down. We've worked hard these few months—all of the teams have—despite all of the turmoil. We _deserve_ the chance to play."

"And yet, as the Ministry-appointed Head of Security here at Hogwarts, I have the authority to make rules as I see fit," Fornier growled. "No Quidditch, Potter, no matter how much you whinge."

There were more gasps around, but Harry only felt his gaze upon Fornier sharper intensely at the dig. This was all so familiar . . . hadn't the Ministry learned anything by now?

"Mr. Fornier, you are testing my patience," Professor Dumbledore said softly.

But now Harry knew exactly what to say to the Head Auror. "Go ahead, cancel the Quidditch season. But I warn you, we'll play anyway. The same games, the same teams, without official school sanction, maybe without a few of the less popular rules." Some students around him cheered, but Harry only saw the narrowing of Fornier's eyes. "I don't know—which sounds more _dangerous_ to you?"

Fornier said nothing, just took a look at the students and then back over to Dumbledore, who was smiling.

"Nicely put, Mr. Potter. Now, Mr. Fornier, we will allow you to make as many security requirements on the field and the players as you deem necessary, within reason, of course, but I think we will—nay, we must allow the Quidditch season to go on as planned."

A cheer went up in the Great Hall, and Fornier tap-danced his way out.

_Author's note: Thanks for your patience, one and all. There are only six chapters left and they should come at more regular intervals now, with plenty of action to take us through to the end. You are all fantastic. Thanks for the support! --Ash_


	25. Pride Goeth Before A Fall

Chapter Twenty-Three: _Pride Goeth Before a Fall_

During the next two weeks, the Gryffindors rode the wave of delirious, all-consuming insurrection with amazing single-mindedness. Katie was back at captain; Harry and Ron were back at practice, completely healthy; and there was additional joy of knowing that every time they practiced, they were figuratively thumbing their nose at Head Auror Fornier.

The man was a dark fountain of menace everywhere he went, snapping orders at the Aurors, questioning students ad nauseum, and performing random searches of students' property, no matter which house they were in. If one house received more scrutiny than any other, it was the Slytherins.

Fornier, much to Ron's increasing sense of joy, pounced on Draco as mercilessly as a hunting owl with an empty stomach. Draco, for his part, did a fairly good imitation of a small rodent frozen in fear. He took whatever the Head Auror dished out as silently as possible, never even looking the man in the eye.

"I'm telling you something's not right," Hermione hissed as they passed Draco suffering yet again through a bag search with Fornier in his face.

Harry gave up trying to catch Draco's eye and as they rounded the corner, pulled Ginny's hand up to his face to rub it against his cheek. He'd found that it helped unwind the tight knot in his stomach. What had he done before Ginny? She squeezed his hand before turning to Hermione.

"So you _want_ the Slytherins to go parading around with god-knows-what in their bags, knowing that they're planning at least three more attempts on Harry's life?"

Hermione gave Ginny a scowl. "Of course not! I'm glad they're being searched, but it just doesn't add up. Why is he harassing Harry, too, if he's here to protect him?"

This was something Harry had been kicking around and growing angrier over himself. His bag had been searched every day this week, even if not as often as Draco's.

"At first I thought it was only to make it look as if Fornier wasn't playing favorites, but now . . . he's gone beyond that. He's made Harry late for Potions twice this week."

"Yeah, it's lucky Snape is still being so . . . so . . ." Ron trailed off with a grimace. Rather than giving Harry detention for being late as he would have any other year, Snape had merely forced a ghastly smile and continued on with his lesson. Even Hermione had missed taking notes for the next few minutes as she, along with the entire class, sought to find familiar ground to stand on. Harry had noticed Ron hadn't closed his mouth afterward for a full five minutes. He'd tried to, but it just sort of fell back open again. Ron shuddered, then went on. "I dunno about Fornier. Seems to me he may be searching your bag to see if you've been pulling some of the pranks."

Due to several sets of unfortunate circumstances, Fornier was now finding himself in a stew of rather well-seasoned mutiny. First off, he had impeccably bad timing, coming to Hogwarts the year _after_ Dolores Umbridge. Thus, the students were already disposed to begrudge Fornier any power given him by the ministry. Also, Harry had begun this year slightly more inclined to revolt than usual, given the summer he'd had, which, in addition to having fought off many death attempts while back at school, had only made the drive stronger.

Then it is necessary to factor in that the attacks by the Slytherins had only made the students (in majority) more sympathetic to Harry. They hated to see him further harassed and responded accordingly. Now, to cap it all off, Fred and George were back at Hogwarts. Now, put all these circumstances in a blender with steamed milk, and out comes an amazing, frothy Fornier-Is-Going-Down Frappe. Enjoy.

The day after Harry's Quidditch revolt, the Great Hall had somehow become inundated with small toy Snitches that amused the students by whizzing about and chirping the Hogwarts' School Song. As brilliant as the trick was, and as wonderful as it was to see Fornier trying his hardest to ignore the bright balls darting about, Professor Dumbledore ended the mischief with a wave of his hand.

As the Snitches fell, students scrambled to catch them, excited to see that they each contained a small prize inside—crunchy chocolate snowmen that showed an unusual resemblance to Auror Fornier and made the sound of tap-dancing when eaten. By that evening, a nice basket of the chocolates ended up on Fornier's desk, sent with love from a secret admirer, often credited to one or more of the Weasleys, though they never confessed.

Once the ball got rolling, Fornier's owl was loaded down every morning with pictures, cards and small chocolates from many secret admirers. At first, the Auror had the nerve to be flattered and walked around with a smug-but-slightly alarmed look on his face. Then, after a few more letters, he grew disturbed. Ultimately, he became paranoid, though the Headmaster convinced him nothing could be done to discourage students from expressing their thanks and devotion to a public figure such as himself.

By the beginning of the second week, Fornier became more aggressive with his searches and more distracted, scanning the students with a new, nervous tic in his left eye which made him look like he was winking.

Ginny was, naturally, the first to take advantage of this new weakness. After lunch one day, she sought Fornier out as Harry and the others watched from around the corner.

"Did you want to see me, sir?" she asked brightly.

He eyed her up and down as though she was a particularly venomous specimen of a doxy. "No. No—not at all. Go on to class, Miss Weasley."

"Are you . . . sure you don't want to see me now?"

"Quite sure. Now move on!"

She smiled coyly. "Did you maybe want to see me in private—_later?"_

"Merlin, child—no, of course not!"

Ginny looked so innocent and heartbroken as Fornier shooed her away that Harry had to physically hold Ron up—he was laughing that hard. And that was the beginning of the winkers—the name for various and sundry students who plagued Fornier claiming that he must have winked at them for _some_ reason.

Hermione was finally able to schedule a meeting with the Headmaster, and reported back to Harry and Ron that the D.A. Galleons were now fully-operative Portkeys with the destination of Dumbledore's office.

"It's about bloody well time," Ron groused, "but how'd he do it for all of them when they're still in our pockets?"

"The Protean Charm I put on them was strong enough to carry it," Hermione replied demurely.

"Well done, Hermione," Harry said, in such obvious relief that the others both looked at him. "You've no idea what a load off my mind that is — knowing that if something happens to . . . that if you need to, all of you can get to safety. Brilliant work, really."

Harry thought he saw a flicker of worry in the looks they exchanged, so he quickly moved on to Quidditch talk. Gryffindor, after all, was getting ready for the first Quidditch match of the year—the season that Harry saved from being wiped out by Fornier. They had practice each night, hours on end to try all the new plays Katie had researched during her time off for the team.

"I had to do something with all that spare time," she'd laughed when Ron stared at her plans with his eyes bulging.

By Thursday night of that second week, they had added all the new plays to their repertoire and even Ron was satisfied with the variety.

"If I'd only known . . ." Ron faded off, his eyes dreamy as he stared into the fire, sprawled out on the couch, clean and rumpled after his shower. Harry, who was likewise clean and leaning back against Ginny on the couch as she fluffed his slightly damp hair, looked at Ron curiously, but was too comfortable to speak.

Hermione, reading in the wing chair opposite, had no such problem. "Yes—see, there was no need for you to be so rude to Katie. You should learn to control your temper, Ron."

"Wha'? No!" he sat up and turned to stare at her. "I meant that if I'd only known she'd do all this if I got her mad enough, I'd have pissed her off sooner."

Harry, whose mind had been preoccupied with a long, brown-paper wrapped package that hadn't arrived yet, fell back to musing. It had taken some doing, which included, but was not limited to, bribing Filch with information (partially true) about how the Slytherins had been behind some of the pranks against Fornier, ensuring that Ginny was not his bodyguard tomorrow afternoon, and figuring out a way to keep from being searched by Fornier in the hallway while he was in route. At last, he thought he had it all worked out.

After classes on Friday, Harry obeyed the expected summons to Filch's office, using Luna and Neville as look-outs and decoys so that he and Ron could get bypass Fornier and his gang of Aurors. Neville actually had to submit to being searched himself and Harry promised himself that he would pay his friend back somehow.

And as he stood back outside Filch's office, long, brown-paper wrapped package in hand, he didn't begrudge Filch the extra five Galleons he'd had to pay, nor the trouble getting it here. It would have been easier if he could have just bought it from Katie's Kwidditch Keeper, but with all the trouble Crabbe had brought with his Killing Curse and all the pandemonium afterwards, the brooms had been sent back to get checked for damage or curses.

But now it was here and Ginny was going to love it.

Heading back to the Common Room, Harry draped his Invisibility Cloak over the package and floated it behind him. Once more, Luna and Neville went in front of them, with no trouble this time.

Getting the gift past Ginny was going to be a problem, though. One at a time, he and Ron went though the additional security at the Common Room door—hardly noticed it now—and were surprised to see Violet Hooch standing in a circle of Gryffindors.

Ron and Harry exchanged looks. Violet was giving Ginny a hug, apparently having just returned. Hermione, as prefect, was standing with Violet, papers in hand.

"Glad you're back," Tobias said as Ginny stepped back. "I thought your Mum wasn't keen on you staying."

Violet shrugged. "It was my aunt that got me back here."

"Madame Hooch rocks!" someone yelled.

"She rocks hard," Violet agreed, spiking hair shaking vibrantly. "Mum was being so boring about the whole thing_—'You'll be killed! It's too dangerous!'_ I kept telling her that it's only Slytherins that are dying and that's only because they keep messing with Harry—"

"Damn straight," Fred agreed loudly, to the cheers of the other Gryffindors, "no one messes with Harry and gets away with it!" More cheers. Harry, who was nearly hiding now back behind Ron, thumped his friend hard when he began cheering, too.

"Oy!" But Ron caught the hint and turned and headed up the stairs, letting Harry step in front of him to hide the view from behind and below. Dean, who was coming down the stairs, looked disgruntled and only waved as Harry greeted him. Unfortunately, Harry wasn't watching where his invisible package was pointing (as it was very long and very invisible) and Dean hunched over with a sudden, pain-filled grunt.

Harry was shoved back into Ron, who got poked with the other end of the package and nearly went off the stairs.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Dean ground out, sitting painfully on the stair.

"Sorry, mate," Harry whipped the package up vertically and hastened to Dean's side. "Present for Ginny. Sorry."

"'Course," Dean spat out, "'course the present you buy for Ginny just _has_ to rack me in the balls! Why settle for just figurative?"

Harry froze. "What? What d'you mean?"

Ron, who had been busy grousing as well, stood below them, peering up at Dean. "Yeah, what's that supposed to mean?"

Dean looked down and struggled to his feet. "Nothing," he finally got out, breathing heavily. He gripped the railing all the way down, moving slowly amid the laughter and chattering of the group down below. Ron and Harry exchanged uneasy looks and watched him go.

"Hey, Harry!" Tobias called up to him. The whole group turned, and Harry saw by Ginny's mocking glance that she had known he was trying to sneak by her. Harry greeted the group and welcomed Violet back. When he looked back at Ginny, she raised her eyebrows and nodded toward Dean as if to say, _What the hell was **that?**_

Harry shrugged and moved the Invisibility Cloak-ed package behind him. Ron grabbed him and called down below, "Harry split his pants. Gotta' change."

Harry froze and stifled his protest, then let himself be hustled upstairs, turning slightly pink as laughter followed them all the way up.

"Getting too big for your britches, Potter?" Fred called up.

The laughter was broken by a single, clear voice. "In _some_ places, Fred, dear," Ginny said suggestively, "but then you wouldn't know about _that_, would you?"

The stunned silence broke out into raucous hilarity and Harry went all the way to bright, burning red. Unfortunately, by staying upstairs and hoping the furor would die down, he gave the twins ample time to come up with more material, and found when he finally emerged from the dorm room that he now had a new title: "The One with the Big One." And Ginny, instead of joining Harry in his perpetually embarrassed state, had the nerve to look smug.

The day of the Quidditch match dawned cheerless and cold. A stiff breeze whistled through the halls of Hogwarts and everyone's thoughts lingered on winter before jumping full-tilt toward the Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor match in late morning. It was easy to tell, because charmed, Everlasting Snowflakes had been set to follow Fornier around, changing into roaring lions if hexed. His retreat from breakfast that morning was not nearly as dignified as usual, between his tap-dancing, dodging Snowflakes, yelling at the other Aurors to hex them, and lions roaring every time they tried.

Professor McGonagall seemed to like them, as she merrily joined in, reassuring that she could get rid of the things, and then causing more roars than any of the Aurors as her hexes never seemed to actually get rid of them.

All in all, it was with a light heart that everyone turned out to the Quidditch pitch. Set against a blue sky the palest shade of perwinkle, the stadium was awash with colorful banners and flags waving in the playful breeze. The line of students filing out to the pitch was marked by Aurors at every thirty meters or so, and joined by many additional witches and wizards, all family members seeking to support their players or seeking reassurance that Hogwarts was safe. Dumbledore had welcomed them all. Indeed a large, smoke-written message gathered above the pitch.

Harry, leading the team to the locker room, was surprised to see it forming above.

"Welcome, parents, students, and distinguished guests, to the first Quidditch match of the season!"

"Distinguished guests, my arse," Ron muttered. "I hope he's not putting Fornier in that group."

"Should have read 'Welcome parents, students, distinguished guests and extreme mental cases,'" Ginny said.

The atmosphere was noticeably less buoyant in the locker room. After everyone was dressed, Katie rattled off the list of plays in the playbook, reminding the key players of their moves and the mental counts that went with them. Timing was everything in Quidditch.

Which was why Harry had chosen this moment.

As soon as Katie was through, and everyone was well into their last-five-minutes-before-a-game-routine, Harry pulled Ginny aside.

They stepped over behind a row of lockers and Ginny smiled up at him, her eyes narrowed, the dimple on her left cheek making an appearance. "You've been acting funny all morning. For the last few days actually. What's going on?"

Harry looked down at his shoes and swallowed, all the words he had planned suddenly spinning away like a snitches in mid-flight.

Ginny nudged him. "Now don't do that. It's just me, you prat."

"I know, it's just—" he took a deep breath, "I don't know if you'll . . . get mad at me or not."

"If you don't tell me, then I really will get mad."

"Here." Harry reached behind him into an unoccupied locker and pulled out the brown-paper wrapped parcel. It was long and decidedly broom-like in shape, and Ginny's mouth formed a small "o." She dropped to the bench and started ripping off the paper.

"Oh, if you . . . you can't have . . .Oh! You did!" she cried out and then gasped in a huge breath again. "A Firebolt Beam . . ." The awe in her voice and the look of rapture on her face gave Harry a warm, squishy feeling he'd not often had. She liked it.

"Harry!" Katie's commanding voice barked from across the room. "She can't fly on that today. It's a new broom. It may throw her entire game off."

Harry blinked. "But . . ." That simply had not occurred to him.

Ginny stood slowly and stiffly in front of Harry. "I can fly on any broom, thank you, Katie. Thank you, Harry. I love it." Then, with a hug, she dropped her formal tone and whispered in his hear. "And I love you. I'll give you a better thank you later."

Harry went hot all over, sweat prickling in interesting places, and then managed to choke out, "I'm glad you like it."

She pecked him on the cheek and then faced the team brightly. "Everyone ready to go?"

Harry walked to the center of the room and stretched his hand out. "Go," he said forcefully, the beginning of the ritual he had begun during his brief time of captaining in Katie's absence.

The others moved in to form a circle, broom in one hand, the other placed on top of Harry's, each saying, "Go!"

When all had joined in, they pumped their hands in time with the words, "Go, go Gryffindor—GO!"

The students roared as the Gryffindors took the pitch.

"_And here is the Gryffindor Quidditch team: Potter, Weasley, Weasley, Bell, new Chaser Hoffman, new Beater Grady, and other new Beater Headly."_

Katie, who had turned to face the Gryffindor crowd, paused and grabbed at Ginny. "Isn't that your Mum?"

"Where?"

"There, beside that man—oh, that's your father, isn't it? Nice red hair. Should have known."

"Oh yeah—that's Dad! Dad! Mum!" She waved like mad. "Look, Ron, Harry! It's Mum and Dad."

"Bugger. It is." Ron went a bit pale. "And I didn't even know."

"But it's a good thing they're here, Ron, right?" Ginny prodded him.

"Well, yeah, but I didn't even have time to . . . get ready . . . you know."

"Which is probably why they didn't tell us they'd be here. They knew you'd have more time to get nervous. Just wave, you clot."

Harry waved as well and smiled to see them finally wave back. Ginny turned and gave Harry a peck on the cheek. "Break a broomstick, love."

The Gryffindors all went Oooooooooo and Harry turned bright red. "You as well." He squeezed her hand and then watched her mount her broom and rise with the other Gryffindors. Ron gave him a shaky wave and took off.

"_The big mystery today is whether or not this team, which has been patched together so many times as Potter has grown from First Year Seeker to Sixth Year, can pull together to offset the sleek stylings of the Ravenclaw team which returns this year in its entirety."_

The Ravenclaw team was already up and flying, except for their captain and Seeker—Cho Chang. Madame Hooch and Cho waited for him, as Katie had left his name as co-captain on the roster, at mid-field. Harry jogged over, noticing how Cho's eyes were drilling into his own.

"_It will be an interesting match. Ravenclaw had a mediocre season last year, but having all of the same players should have given them time to improve. And word in the hallway is that 'improve' is a weak word to describe what they've been doing!" _

"Hello, Mr. Potter," Madame Hooch said, "are you feeling well?"

"Yes, ma'am. And my team is ready."

"_Catch that fantastic move by Fourth Year Neal McDonald! What a Woollongong Shimmy! Look out Gryffindor Chasers, this boy has been doing his homework!"_

"Very well. And Miss Chang, are you feeling well today?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And your team?" the professor went on, "Are they feeling well and ready to fly?"

"They are feeling . . . ready to win," Cho gave Harry a sideways look with a small smile.

Harry grinned. "See you in the air."

"_On the Gryffindor side of the field, let me direct your attention to the always breath-taking Ginny Weasley, beautiful on the field and in the air—"_

Harry stood there, one arm on his broom, the other hand clenched in a fist by his side, and frowned up at the table where the new commentator was seated, a Fourth Year Hufflepuff named Brian Moss.

"_I must say that I'm glad to see her spread her wings as Chaser this year. I always felt that the Seeker position was best held by Potter and I'm glad that he's back out there . . . standing on the field staring at me for some reason. What?" _he called down to Harry._ "Did I say something wrong?"_

There was muttered whispering from a smaller figure beside Brian, and then his very sheepish voice came back on.

"_Let me amend my earlier statement to say the 'always breath-taking and, of course, already taken, Ginny Weasley, who seems to be spinning around the pitch on the newest broom from the Firebolt line—the Beam. Rumor has it that the broom was a gift from her very possessive and er, very powerful boyfriend, Harry Potter himself. I'm sure all of Gryffindor will be glad of that gift by the end of the game today." _There was the noise of a throat being cleared._ "How was that, Harry?"_

Harry gave the box one more glare and then lifted off. Madame Hooch's whistle blew just as he got into place. Below him, the players zipped into action and the roar of the crowd picked up. Harry automatically began scanning the pitch, his eyes working in the natural rhythm he had developed over the years. For a moment, he tuned into the running commentary.

"_Ravenclaw is on the offensive at the start of the game today, which is only appropriate seeing as they'll need every scoring opportunity available to try and best Potter and his sturdy team of Gryffindors."_

More whispering from the commentary box, then another voice came on.

"_I think it's time that a girl gave some commentary."_ A cheer went up from the stands—mostly from the girls. _"I can't believe you called the Gryffindors 'sturdy.' You make them all sound plump or something!"_

Harry couldn't help smiling as Brian came back on.

"_Er . . . this is my . . ."_

"_Girlfriend, Brian, the word is girlfriend."_

"_Right. Er . . . this is my girlfriend, Winnie Condalary, and she thinks it would be good to get a girl's perspective on the game. And so do some of the faculty. So."_

"_Yes, I do. For one thing, the Gryffindors are not sturdy at all. All of them are whip-thin except for that huge bear of a Keeper they have, Ron Weasley. And then the colors of the uniform—all that leather trimmed in gold—well, let me just say right now that no girl out here is thinking 'sturdy' when she looks at all those Gryffindor wizards."_

"_Win—nie!"_

"_Oh, you can talk about Ginny, but if I so much as **mention** the boys, you—what's that, Professor Flitwick? Oh, right—sorry. Anyway, the Ravenclaw team looks to be surprisingly good this year—I suppose **you'd** say something boring like they're dependable—"_

"_Well, I might—yes, but—"_

"_Which they aren't! They only won two games last year. They tend to be a bit uneven, with some brilliant moves by Cho, the darling captain of the team, and a trio of very strong Chasers, which you can see in action at this very moment."_

"_Yes. They are moving toward scoring position, keeping Weasley on his toes. And—what's that? Trevor Marsh swoops in and pins Weasley against the hoop!"_

Harry did a quick one-eighty and watched in disbelief as Ron shoved hard back against the Ravenclaw player and pulled away from the goal hoop.

"_The Quaffle tossed by Hughes went in, but—that's got to be the worst bit of stooging I've ever seen! A whistle from Madame Hooch confirms the foul. Is Weasley all right? Yes, he's all right, but he looks pissed."_

"_And Ginny Weasley pulls back to comfort him—no, wait, she's going after Trevor Marsh—another whistle! But she hasn't fouled him yet. A preemptive whistle?"_

Harry watched with a mixture of alarm and pride as Ginny hunted Trevor down and pinned him against the lower wall of the stands—hard. The Gryffindors went wild.

"_And Madame Hooch is giving a foul to each team. What was Weasley thinking?"_

Winnie snorted._ "She was thinking that Marsh shouldn't get away with it, of course!"_

The two bickered back and forth until the action got going again. Harry, who had been shaking his head over the commentary, suddenly saw a flash of gold near the stands. He was off like a shot, the wind whistling in his ears, the commentary and calls of his teammates coagulating into a dull roar.

The Snitch shot off diagonally, and Harry stretched for it, but it spun by out of reach. Behind him, he heard Cho go whistling by in full pursuit. _Damn_. He jerked a turn and sped after her.

"_It's a race to the Snitch—"_ Harry heard before the commentary became a blur again.

Cho was just ahead of him, the eddies from the tail of her broom creating turbulence in Harry's path. He moved up slowly, trying to get a better angle and more speed. Cho was almost there; the Snitch was a golden smear ahead. Harry put an extra burst of speed on and now he was with Cho, neck and neck. He kept his eye on the Snitch, but saw her head turn his way for just a second.

The Snitch dove and both of them careened downward breathlessly. Then, without warning, it flipped under and sped away below them. Harry vaulted his broom into a forward roll and slid to a stop, facing the way the Snitch had just sped away.

"_What a move by Potter!" _Brian enthused._ "Has anyone ever seen that before? I mean, successfully done?"_

Harry shook his head. He'd seen lots of players lose control of their broom that way.

"_Harry!! Don't do it."_

Who was that? Someone was screaming out of the crowd at him. He looked over and saw Hermione straining to get her voice to him. She was holding her wand to her throat.

"_Harry! Don't get the—"_

"Nice move, Harry," Cho called down to him, speeding away after the Snitch.

"_I think we've just seen a new Quidditch move, perhaps one that will be named hereafter as the Potter Roll—"_

Harry leaned down over his broom and flew like an arrow in the shallow trajectory the Snitch had taken.

"_Can't you come up with a better name than that?"_

Harry ignored the roar around him. Cho was ahead of him _again!_ She'd nearly beaten him to the Snitch once before, and the memory of that near loss propelled him forward.

The Snitch angled up straight through the middle of the pitch, and Harry found himself dodging Ravenclaw Chasers as they closed in on Ron and the goal again, using a Hawkshead Attacking Formation this time.

"Well, that's new," Harry muttered, the wind snatching away his words. The Chasers were reaching the goal area and two peeled away, leaving Trevor Marsh alone with Quaffle, poised to toss it into a goal. Harry couldn't watch as the Snitch took him back due East again, toward the Ravenclaw goals.

It moved back through the center goal, and as Harry and Cho dodged the Keeper, they slowed down. Harry looked up, down, right and left, but the golden glint was gone.

Cho, looking desperately angry, gave Harry a look and peeled away to the right. Harry stayed where he was, hovering above the Ravenclaw goals, searching the sky. He took a quick look at the score board. No, Ravenclaw had not scored. Harry grinned. Ron was doing a great job. The Gryffindor section was going crazy. His parents must be so proud.

"_Har—ry! Catch the Snitch! Har—ry! Catch the Snitch!"_ They hadn't done that one in a while. But it sounded a little strange, like there was an extra syllable in it. More like _"Har—ry! **Don't** catch the Snitch!"_

"What?" He looked over at the Gryffindor section and saw them all waving frantically. Several voices went loud, using a loudspeaker spell, but they all competed for his attention and nothing sounded clear enough to understand, especially with the commentary ongoing.

"_Weasley just managed to dodge that Bludger, and now she's moving back into position to—no—now where's she going? Over to Potter?"_

There she was, flying frantically at him, red hair flapping in the wind, her face tense enough to make him instantly on edge. Something was wrong. Harry pulled up on level with her.

"_First she takes a go at Cho, can't chase her down so she turns on Potter? Does anyone else understand this?"_

"_Har—ry!"_ Hermione was trying again. "_**Don't** catch the Snitch!"_

He looked over at her in disbelief. "What?"

Ginny slammed to a halt beside him, her hand grabbing his broom and making them both rock.

"Pride!!!" she yelled, then sucked in a breath, "don't get the Snitch. It's a Portkey. We have to stop—"

"Cho," Harry breathed out, then looked up to see her single-mindedly pursuing the speeding ball. He touched Ginny on the hand, "Thanks," and then took off, his breath heaving, his heart pounding. He had to stop her. Otherwise—

_Not another Charlie. No._

Ginny was beside him, screaming at Cho. They flew all out, players scattering around them. The game ground to a halt, but Cho was up so high that she hadn't noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the Snitch.

Closer and closer Harry drew. He could almost reach her broom. Cho reached out her hand, stretching toward the Snitch.

"_NO!"_ Harry yelled.

"_Don't touch it, Cho!"_ Ginny screamed, and the roar of other voices was at once deafening.

But Cho had found what she wanted. With a smile that Harry could barely see, she plucked the Snitch from the air.

"NO!" Harry yelled again.

Cho gave a low, barely-heard gasp and then—disappeared.

Ginny and Harry pulled up their brooms sharply, staring at the empty air. Harry was frozen inside. "They've got her," he mumbled. "The Death Eaters."

Then Ginny was in front of him, her broom nestled next to his, legs touching, her eyes boring into his. "I'm sure she's carrying her D.A. Galleon, Harry."

"What? But does she—know—about it?"

"Of course, Harry. We made sure all of the D.A. knew about it, but kept it a secret. She'll be okay. She'll get away." Harry nodded, still struggling to take in a decent breath. "All she has to do is say, 'Dumbledore's Office.' She'll remember."

And Harry could see that Ginny really thought it was true. She wasn't just saying that.

"I could use mine to go check," she offered. "But I don't want to leave you, honestly. Who knows what's going to—"

And suddenly, Harry's mind registered three things at once: one—people were shouting his name again; two—something dark and round was coming directly at him from the right side; and three—if he ducked, that something was going to hit Ginny.

"Harry!" she gasped.

Harry dove and rolled sideways, pushing Ginny's broom down and around a fraction of a second before she dove, the fraction that meant the difference between safety and broken bones. A Bludger whistled by.

"Harry!" Ginny yelled and he twisted to see the other Bludger coming from behind. Another dive, another roll, this time with Ginny splitting apart from Harry, and the other Bludger had missed as well.

"_HARRY!"_ So many people were screaming his name that, without looking, he knew it was time to move again. He shot ahead, then rolled up and back in as narrow of an arc as he could make it, coming up behind the Bludger.

_Damn. Not again._

They'd tampered with the Bludgers. How had they managed it? Last time it had broken his arm before it had been stopped, but with two—

Louder screams again. Harry's senses spun outward and up. One Bludger, coming down on him. With a gut-wrenching twist, he avoided the hurtling ball only to find that the other had corrected its trajectory and was heading straight for his face. Diving would take him too far forward, so Harry rolled to the right and headed for the goal posts on the Ravenclaw side.

From within the chaos of sounds—yelling, screams, furious winds going by—came the shrill sound of Madame Hooch's whistle. She was clearing the pitch. _Good._

A few spells shot from fellow players, at least one that looked as if had been from Ron. But the Bludger was going so fast that it was nearly impossible to hit. And—

An _Impedimenta_ that was spun from his right nearly connected with Harry. He swerved to avoid it, then ducked to miss the goal post and Sloth Rolled right to avoid the next Bludger attempt. At least the stupid things weren't going after anyone else. Not like the Portkey. Not like Cho.

This had to be another attempt from the Slytherins. They were piggy-backing them now, hoping if one didn't work, he'd be too distracted to cope with the next one coming so quickly.

"Fat chance," he muttered as she swung wide to avoid Trevor Marsh, who, for some reason hadn't made it all the way down to the ground yet. The Bludger passed right by Marsh and he spit out an Impedimenta curse that actually connected.

Actually connected and made the Bludger go . . . faster? Harry, close to panic now, flew even faster, Sensing the Bludgers—one coming from ahead and the other about to overtake him from behind. He managed to get around the slower Bludger and then both were after him. The world went by in a blur. A steady roar was in his ears. Tears leaked out of his eyes from the wind and he knew he was running out of pitch.

From behind him came a shout. Harry turned about in surprise. Charlie Weasley was on a broom, coming after him. He hadn't even realized Charlie had been there. And going that fast—?

Charlie was shouting something. Harry, looking past the Bludgers and at Charlie, tried to hear past the wind. What was he saying? At this speed, there probably wasn't anyone else who could keep up—

Harry jerked his broom down into a spectacular dive, heading straight for the ground. Behind him, he saw the Bludger edging nearer . . . nearer. Harry was slowing down bit by bit, closing the space between them. The stadium was steadily moving from a small, indistinct blur to a large pool of noise and color. Now the ground was coming up fast and the fast Bludger was right on his tail. Charlie had pulled off to the side, still shouting.

The ground was rushing up at Harry. He was in the stadium, down past the stands and staring at green grass before he began the Wronkski Feint—almost too late. He pulled up as hard as he could, feeling the strain against his arms, the pull of gravity on his broom. With a loud concussion, the fast Bludger hit the earth behind him. Harry pulled up and away and the slower Bludger swerved to follow.

"Good move, Harry!" Charlie was suddenly keeping pace, leaning hard over Ginny's new broom, yelling into the wind.

Harry just nodded, breathing too hard to speak. His arms were trembling.

"Listen, there are five D.A. members up on brooms, all of them with Portkeys. Just ditch the Bludger, spin around and try to slow down before you make contact. It will take both of you to Dumbledore's office."

Harry gave him a thumbs-up sign. "Evacuate the crowd! I may not be able . . . to keep it out of the stands!"

"I'm on it! You're doing great, Harry! Don't worry about us!"

Charlie slowed and was behind him in an instant.

The only way to get rid of the Bludger was to run it into something. But it was too agile to hit goal posts and he couldn't draw it into the stands until the crowd was clear. That would take another minute or two, and Harry was tiring fast. It took enormous concentration and energy to keep going at such high speeds.

He looped around the Gryffindor goal posts and headed back the other way, seeing for the first time the D.A. members on brooms. He knew who he would aim for. Ron was the only one he trusted to handle the impact of having Harry hurtle himself at him. He would try and slow down before making contact, but it might not be possible . . .

_Damn. _

He sped past the first student who was too small to be Ron, and the second who had dark hair. Dean?

Behind him, the Bludger was closing in. Harry sped up, saw that Ron was ahead on the left and swerved right. The Bludger followed him and curved around as Harry followed the wall of the stadium. The stadium was emptying of students. _Good._

Suddenly, Harry was back up beside Ron. He shot straight up and the Bludger slowed momentarily to change trajectories. Harry took advantage and swung around before diving straight down. The Bludger slowed again to follow. Harry did a corkscrew and swung out of it below Ron. Shooting straight up one more time, he pulled back on his broom to slow it, feeling the vibrations as the magical energy fought with his momentum. Below him, the Bludger slowed and followed.

Harry was just above Ron when he let go of his broom. He was already falling when Ron jumped up to catch him and there was a tremendous collision. Somehow, Ron managed to get hold of Harry, yelling_"Dumbledore's Office!"_

They were falling, but then came a sharp tug from behind Harry's navel and the usual disorienting roll of darkness and light spun over them. The pitch was gone; the Bludger left behind. Harry slumped with relief, though he hated Portkeys—hated the places they took him, and the way Tom always seemed to be in control. But almost anything was preferable to being beaten to death by crazed Bludgers.

Unless . . .

"No," Harry whispered, as the light touch of something dark whispered by his mind.

"Wha—?"

Ron never got to finish his question. With a hard jerk that snapped Harry's neck, the forward propulsion stopped—just as if he'd been grasped from behind—just like last time. Ron bellowed in pain. The magic of the Portkey pressed them forward, while Tom's magic held them back.

A familiar spearhead of agony bloomed in his skull. Harry curled in, clutching his head, but he was already erecting the gray screen of Occlumency in his mind.

"_Procclumens,"_ Harry mouthed carefully, using the knowledge of what he'd learned over the summer. As long as his focus and will were strong, he didn't have to actually say the words aloud. On the screen came vibrant, recent memories: of Ginny's kisses, of Ron's muttered _Fraterdum Singletus_ and its meaning of "brothers to the final breath," of the support from the whole school as Harry had been walked from the Infirmary to his dorm, Dumbledore leading him with a smile.

From somewhere nearby and yet far away, Tom shrieked in pain, and Harry bit through his bottom lip to keep from doing the same as the pain in his head doubled and the crushing force grew stronger. It squeezed the air out of his lungs and he felt Ron convulse behind him. But with one final, spastic tug, Tom's magic released them and Harry found himself tumbling on the hard, wooden floor of Dumbledore's office.

Ron groaned behind him.

Harry lay still, breathing deeply, winded from the flying and the Portkey. He tasted blood on his bottom lip. The office was quiet, with only the soft, familiar whirring of Dumbledore's strange magical objects on his desk as background.

Ron sat up and leaned over Harry. "All right, mate?" His face was pale and there was an ugly bruise on his cheek.

Harry nodded and closed his eyes.

"Damn," Ron muttered tensely, climbing to his feet. "She's not here," he said thickly.

Harry's eyes flew open and he sat up, suddenly remembering Cho. "She _has_ to be here! Cho?" Harry was on his feet now, wiping the blood from his mouth. "Maybe she's already on her way downstairs."

"Maybe."

But before either of them could move for the door, a sudden thump from behind startled them. Harry didn't take the time to turn around; he Sensed the spell coming his way and dove left. Ron whipped around, wand out, but was caught directly in the chest by a Cruciatus Curse and dropped to the floor, writhing in agony.

"_NO!"_ Harry yelled, but had no time to get to his feet. Instead he dove left to avoid the curse slung at him, then aimed and fired a Bludgeoning Curse in return at—

"Dean?"

The taller boy easily blocked the spell and smirked at him. "Who did you expect? A Slytherin?"

Harry barely got up a Shield in time to deflect the next volley of curses, then flung an Impediment Jinx at his friend and dove behind Dumbledore's desk. Dean blocked the jinx, took Ron's wand easily and stepped toward the desk.

"Harry? It's just you and me now. Best man wins."

"I don't want to hurt you, Dean!" he called out. "Something . . . someone is controlling you! It has to be the Imperius! Try to throw it off!"

"Maybe I don't want to." While Harry watched in horror, Dean reached down and grabbed the desk with both hands, lifting it as easily as if it were made of Styrofoam. With a roar, the dark-skinned boy threw it behind him, where it slammed into the wall with a solid thud and rolled over.

Harry's wand was trained on Dean, but his mind was whirling. Now he noticed the dried specks of blood around Dean's horribly lopsided grin, the long streams of bloodstains down his shirt and the shaking of his wand hand.

Rage and something else made Harry's own hand quake as he knelt, at a serious disadvantage, only one meter away from Dean's wand. "You're under the Imperius, Dean. You don't want to do this."

"Oh, don't I?" And Harry was suddenly unsure. "It was always you, Harry, winning everything, taking all the glory for yourself, leaving nothing for the rest of us. I can't fly as well as you. I can't fight as well as you, and I couldn't even keep Ginny away from you!! You've taken everything I ever wanted! You've even taken my best friend away from me!!"

"I didn't make Seamus leave. And I didn't take Ginny from you. She—"

"Shut it!! Shut it you—you—" he shook his head and Harry saw tears come into his eyes—his frantic, wild eyes. "_'The One'_ they call you. What will they call _me_, then? _'The One who Killed The One_?'" He laughed a short, barking laugh. "Think I'll get a title, too?"

"Whose blood did you drink?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? But I don't think I'll tell you. It could be Cho's. It could be Hermione's. It could even be . . . Ginny's."

Harry felt hot fury rise, but he suddenly knew the true answer to the question. Dean had hurled that desk so easily . . .

"Envy," he said, suddenly understanding.

"Very impressive, Potter." The name sounded strange coming so spitefully from Dean's mouth. "Got it in one. Care to guess who—"

But he never got the rest of the words out.

There was another, smaller thud and a _"Harry?"_

It was Ginny.

Dean spun with his wand raised, catching her off-guard. She aimed, hesitated, looked at Harry and then back at Dean.

"Harry?"

Harry shook his head. Dean hadn't fired a spell, just stood there, shaking from head to toe, eyes widening with horror. "I almost . . ." he whispered. "Ginny? I—I—"

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_

Harry's curse snapped Dean's legs together and he tipped over backwards, stiff as a board. Ginny ran over to Harry and threw her arms around him, shivering.

"What happened to Dean?"

"Imperius Curse. Must have been. They made him drink Re'em blood and come after me." It was the only explanation for Dean's sudden strength—Re'em blood. "I don't think he would have said those things otherwise. Ron?" he called over to his friend who was just now sitting up.

"'m fine. Y'okay?"

"Yeah. Dean's a bit stiff at the moment."

"Good. Cho?"

Harry, with Ginny looking up at him, hated to answer. "She's not here. Yet."

Ginny held him tighter. "So . . . this was . . . Envy?"

"Yeah. The Portkey was Pride."

Ron cursed the Slytherins roundly and rather creatively, leading up to a very important question.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "What about the Bludgers? What sin could possibly have anything to do with Killer Bludgers?"

"You got me, mate," Ron said as he pushed himself to his feet.

Ginny shook her head, then jerked back to stare in Harry's eyes, a giggle starting before she could completely squelch it.

"What?"

She peeled her hand away from her mouth and said, almost apologetically, "Sloth."

Harry groaned.

Ron strode over to Dean and pushed him over with one foot. "So who got hold of him? Kind of hard to imagine Bulstrode pulling off something like this."

Just then, Hermione popped into the room, wand outstretched. "Harry! Ron!" She relaxed her pose. "You're all right? Oh, good. What happened to Dean?"

"Exactly what should have happened to the back-stabbing prat," Ron muttered as he headed over to Hermione, arms open for a hug.

But Hermione stopped him with one hand on his chest. "I can't believe you said that. What happened?"

Ron opened his mouth, but no words came out, because just then, Cho appeared in the center of the room, lying on the floor, arms bound to her sides, blood on her face, clothes torn, screaming with a raw, scratched voice, _"Dumbledore's office! Dumbledore's office!!"_

After a second of shocked stillness, Harry ran to her and knelt. She didn't see him, just screamed on and on. He put a hand on each side of her face to still her and called her name over and over until she finally saw him. At once, her eyes glazed over and she went limp in a long, slow faint. A Galleon fell out of her hand and hit the floor with a soft _plink._

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx _

_A/N: For anyone not familiar with the wonderful creatures known as the Re'ems, JKR includes them in her book, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, here is a link to check it out on the web (at the fabulous HP Lexicon):_

_ A/N: Thanks to Melindaleo, the best cheerleader and motivator in the HP fanworld, and to Chele, the best beta e-vah!!_


	26. Naked Soul

Chapter Twenty-Four: Naked Soul

Cho remained unconscious as Hermione and Harry looked her over. She had scrapes and bruises, but no serious injuries. Ginny knelt beside Harry and he turned to put his arms around her. In a small, melancholy voice, she whispered, "If Cho hadn't had the coin . . ."

Harry nodded, his jaw clenched tight. A small, burning nugget of anger formed in his gut.

Hermione sniffed and stood. "We have to get her to the Infirmary. And Dean, too, until we're sure the Imperius Curse has been overcome. Ron, can you get Cho?"

Ron ducked down, met Harry's eyes briefly, and then scooped Cho into his arms.

With a muttered _"Mobilicorpus!"_ Hermione lifted Dean's frozen body with an imperious sniff at Ron's show of macho power. "Harry, I really need to talk to you."

Harry paused. "About what?"

"About how you're going to kill Voldemort," she said matter-of-factly. Everyone stopped moving and stared at Hermione, who took this as a chance not to be wasted. "Well, now that it looks as if you've made it past the SDSes, minus one attempt, it's time to start thinking about dealing with Voldemort."

Irritation made Harry's voice sharp. "I haven't _stopped_ thinking about Tom for one minute. You know that."

Hermione, clearly flustered but determined, went on. "Of course, but have you come with a plan yet?"

"Procclumency . . . and . . ." Harry looked away. "I dunno, maybe my shield will come in handy."

"Harry, that's not nearly good enough. You need a solid plan that won't fall through no matter what happens!"

"Why are we talking about this now? There's still at least one Slytherin walking around with my name at the top of the 'To-be-killed List.'"

Ginny slid a hand into his, making it very hard to stay angry. "Remember, Harry. Hermione was put in charge of researching ways for you to kill Tom by the Headmaster. It won't hurt to listen."

Harry stared at the floor and took a deep breath, before locking eyes with Hermione. "What have you got?"

"Well. This was a big problem to tackle. At first it seemed nearly impossible, especially given that the entire library was now open to me and—"

Ron groaned.

"Perhaps you should skip to the part where you found something," Ginny suggested.

"Oh, all right," Hermione snapped. "Summarily, I was led to an older copy of _Moste Potente Potions_, which includes several dark magic potions in the text. Aldous Puddlearia, the author, maintained that it was necessary for all wizards to know which dark potions which might be used—"

Ron groaned again. "It's like an avalanche of useless information, all while I'm standing here with a bleeding girl in my arms!"

"All right! All right!" Hermione exploded.

"Do you need me to carry her, Ron?" Ginny asked sweetly. "Is the ickle girly Ronniepoo not strong enough to carry the—"

"No, but can we at least _walk_ while we listen?"

"There are spies everywhere, Ron! This office is one of the few safe places!"

As if to underscore her point, the ghostly form of Dobby appeared before them in Dumbledore's office.

"Mister Harry Potter, sir, Dobby has news, sir—bad news! Dobby doesn't know what to do!"

"Where have you been?"

"Watching Duffy, Mister Harry Potter, sir. But the bad House Elf is gone!"

"Gone?" Harry felt dread creep down his spine.

"Dobby was watching him, sir, hiding and watching him, when the bad House Elf turned into Binky!"

"Binky!" Ron interrupted. "Who the bloody hell is Binky?"

"Oh, Binky is a good House Elf, but now she was Polyjuiced to be Duffy and now Dobby isn't knowing where Duffy is!" The great greenish-gray eyes grew shiny and wet-looking, though still ghostly.

"Wait!" Hermione interrupted. "Are you saying that there is no Duffy, and that he was just Binky Polyjuiced and Imperiused all along?"

"Oh, no, no, Binky and Duffy were often there together, so we know there was a Duffy. But we don't know when he left or where he went."

"Is it just me, or is there an awful lot of Polyjuice Potion going around these days?" Harry said tersely.

Hermione caught his eye. "Of course, you know what that means."

"Snape."

"Bloody hell." Ron muttered again.

"Dobby, I need you to go check on the Headmaster. Report back to me after you make sure that he's all right."

"Yes sir, Harry Potter, sir." With that, the House Elf was gone.

"You think the slimy git's going to go after Dumbledore?" Ron asked as they all stared at each other.

"Of course," Hermione answered with sudden vehemence. "If he's switched sides, or never been on our side to begin with, then he'll have to get rid of Dumbledore first."

"Snape couldn't kill Dumbledore!" Ginny interjected. "Dumbledore could out-duel anyone!"

"Maybe not if he's caught unexpectedly, and by someone he trusts," Harry said slowly.

"How awful," Ginny whispered.

"Let's get out there and see what's going on," Harry said, springing his wand out of its holster. He tensed the muscle on his left bicep and felt the familiar binding of his poison antidote. But wait—Snape had made that antidote. Harry shook his head, deciding then and there not to trust it.

With Ginny in the lead, giving Harry a whispered, "Shove off," when he complained, the group headed warily down the spiral staircase, very unsure of what they would find in the hallways. At first glance, however, everything seemed normal.

"So . . . will the SDSes just give up if the anger bit doesn't go off well, either?" Ron asked as he maneuvered Cho out of the door, glancing right and left several times.

"They'll have to," Ginny said grimly, "since they'll mostly be dead."

Harry glanced at her in surprise. "I forgot about that. Do you think they'll all be killed for this? For failing?"

"Yes," Hermione broke in. "They all knew what the price was going to be before they began this and did it anyway. Poor Dean was simply—"

"Harry!"

They all spun around.

"Professor Lupin?" Harry watched his former teacher charge down the hallway to him. "What's going on?"

"Harry, Ron—is everyone all right?" When he stopped and bent over slightly to get his breath, Harry noticed that the Marauder's Map was clutched in his hand.

"Yes, sir. Could I see the map?"

"What?"

Harry jerked his hand and his wand was suddenly there, pointed at his former Professor. "Map, please."

Remus froze, then sighed. "We don't have time for this, Harry, but yes—here, you can see that I am me." He stretched it out and Harry moved close enough to see "Lupin, Remus" listed in the hallway beside "Potter, Harry." There was also a figure moving quickly up the stairs toward them—"Tonks, Nymphadora."

"How is Miss Chang?"

Harry turned to look at the girl in Ron's arms, bleeding and unconscious. "She seems to be all right. They didn't have her very long, I . . ."

Remus straightened up and started to speak, then froze. "Why has Dean been Petrified?" His gaze settled on Harry, who really didn't feel like answering the question at the moment.

"He was under the Imperius Professor Lupin," Ginny spoke up. "He tried to kill Harry."

Remus stared and shook his head, putting a heavy on Harry's shoulder. "You need to come with me. Obviously, it's not safe for you to be wandering the halls."

Harry started to ask about Dumbledore, but the sound of footfalls came from around the corner and Tonks shot into view. "I'm here," she called out to them. "Go on. Remus, I'll take the girls!"

Remus glanced at her and nodded, before fixing his eyes on the group before him. "All right, you have to split up. Harry, Ron—come with me. Hermione, Ginny, you take Cho and Dean to the Infirmary. Tonks will accompany you, and—could you carry Cho?" he asked Tonks briefly. "Good. Professor Dumbledore will be there shortly to catch you up."

"So he's all right, then?"

Remus frowned, "Why wouldn't he be?"

Harry quickly explained what Dobby had told them, and Remus' face grew grim. "No, the Headmaster is fine. I'm afraid 'Duffy' is after other game. Let's get you some place safe, Harry. Now."

Harry mumbled a good-bye to Hermione as she hugged him, somehow managing to feel oppressed by all the protection even as he told himself it was for his good, which made it for everyone's good. Ginny kissed him on the cheek, and he put an arm around her waist to pull her close, suddenly not wanting to let go. He reached his other arm around to hold her, fighting the brief panic that wanted to take hold. He looked down into her brown velvet eyes.

"Be careful," he whispered.

"I will," she said softly, "unless I see a few certain Slytherins, at which time I simply cannot be held responsible for my actions. I'm sure you understand." She gave him a sweet smile and a kiss on the cheek.

Harry's jaw clenched involuntarily. "Oh I understand," he said through gritted teeth.

Then Ginny's eyes softened and the first hint of doubt settled in them. "Please be careful. I love you, Harry."

Harry's throat closed at those words, words he had gone so long without hearing. They burrowed deep in his heart, leaving an electrified path that cut clear to his core. He worked to say something, but couldn't. Ginny smiled again.

"Come on, Harry," Remus prodded, studying the Marauder's Map, "We have to move now!"

Harry glanced over to where Ron was kissing Hermione. "Are you sure they'll be safe?"

"Yes, the path is clear to the Infirmary. Let's go."

Harry sighed and let Ginny go, holding her hand until her fingers slipped from his own.

"Stay safe," she told him. He nodded and watched them walk away until Ron tugged him backwards.

"Come on, Dashing Dick, you'll have plenty of time to catch up on snogging later," Ron goaded him as they followed Professor Lupin.

"Dashing Dick?" Harry groused. "How old are you?"

Ron just grinned. "Mum used to have a book with that bloke in it. Honest. Dashing Dick and Glinda Golightly. Taught us how to read and all that. Horrid book."

Harry was noticing the tense set of Remus' shoulders. "Where are we going, Professor Lupin?"

"Room of Requirement. Need a safe place to tuck you in for a while."

"Why?" Harry exchanged looks with Ron. "What's going on?"

"Lucius Malfoy." Remus didn't break a stride as he shot the words over his shoulder, "He's in the castle."

Harry stopped dead still.

Couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

Cold flooded his body, followed by a feverish flush that left him shaking—

"Harry?"

—shaking and remembering—hate-filled eyes, echoes of red-hot pain and a cold, pale whisper in his ear, _'Have you ever imagined what revenge feels like?'"_

"Harry—breathe, mate!" Someone hit him on the back—hard—several times. Ron. "Come on!"

Harry blinked. Tried to breathe. Tried to speak. Couldn't.

"What the bloody hell . . ."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and finally forced a shallow breath in, then another. Another hand forced him to bend over.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I shouldn't have thrown that at you, but we haven't a second to spare. The entire castle has to be shut-down, all students accounted for, and getting you safe first is a priority." Remus paused. Harry felt childish, fighting for breath in the middle of the hallway for no reason. But his stomach _would_ persist in heaving horribly.

"Are you all right now?"

Harry forced himself up and found Ron staring at him, mouth agape. Harry nodded and started walking again, his body weak but functioning now. The others followed and caught him up, one on each side.

"Tell us if you feel weak again."

Ron was staring across Harry at Remus. Then he pulled something out of his pocket and stared at it. Harry glanced across and saw the stone in Ron's hand, looking oddly blank.

Ron pocketed it again, muttering an oath against totally useless magically-enhanced objects. After a moment, he turned to look at Remus again. "D'you think that the House Elf was Lucius?"

"No," Remus replied quickly. "Definitely not. Lucius apparently arrived just before the Quidditch Match. We'll have more time to explain later. Let's move."

The walk to the Room of Requirement was speedy and quiet, and oddly strengthening for Harry. The first spasm of whatever it was he'd felt at the mention of Lucius' name had faded now, much like the initial pain of pulling a scab off a wound passes quickly. In its place were severe agitation and an overwhelming desire to punch somebody. Harry forced this down and tried to stay calm. He could fight this. In fact, why was he even going to hide?

"Wait—" he stopped, but they were already there. Remus had begun his pacing in front of the room, a frown on his face. Harry looked at Ron.

"Why are we hiding instead of helping them hunt the wizard down?"

"Just a guess, but how about because you threw a wobbly when you heard the wizard's name?"

Harry glared at him.

"All right, then, how about because you just survived three death attempts in a row and we don't want to try the odds on a fourth?"

Harry shook his head disgustedly.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Then how about this one: because if Lucius-the-bastard-son-of-Satan gets to you, then there's going to be a huge row and you'll kick his arse, but you'll get hurt on the way and then the bloody _Fraterdum Singletus_ spell is going to kick in and you'll be sucking me magically dry again—and maybe Ginny this time, too. Which will make you feel like a right wanker." He shrugged. "I'd like to skip the drama for once, how about you?"

Harry blinked, but couldn't find an appropriate response. Finally, he shook his head, in defeat this time, and paced away from Ron. His mind was disturbingly blank.

Remus called over to him. "Harry. Help me. My mind is too distracted to think clearly about what we need from the Room of Requirement. Pace with me." Harry felt into step reluctantly. "Remember, we want a room where you will be safe from Lucius Malfoy or any Slytherins running amuck. Got it? Good."

Harry focused as well as he could on the task, but his thoughts were infringed by a vague, disquieting desperation. Their third trip pacing was interrupted by the voice of Charlie Weasley.

"Remus! Here he is."

Ron didn't even hesitate. "Oh, what the bloody hell—"

Harry quite agreed with Ron's muttering. The pale, wide-eyed boy Charlie was escorting was none other than Draco, ex-Malfoy.

Remus looked relieved. "Just in time."

"Harry. Glad you made it, mate," Charlie said grimly. "That was some flying."

Harry gave him a slight nod, and a "you as well," then turned to stare at Draco, who looked back over his shoulder with wild eyes.

"Can we continue this inside, please?" he said nervously.

"Of course," Remus agreed.

Ron didn't move. _"Why_ is he here?"

Draco gave him a venomous look. "Because without me, your precious Potter would be dead. _Again. _And my father doesn't—"

"Let's get inside, shall we?" interrupted Remus, opening the door. He glanced inside and turned back to smile at Harry. "Nice choice. Inside, everyone."

Charlie peeked in. "Blimey."

"Draco, all the way in."

The boy looked around and drawled, "Never though I'd be back _here_ again."

"It's the closest _you'll_ ever get to the real thing again," Ron snapped in the pale boy's face. "Thanks, Harry. It's nice."

Harry was standing just inside the door, breathing in the sights and smells of the familiar living room in the Weasley home. It was just like the original and the same as Harry had last seen it. The furniture was mismatched and patched, the curtains were faded and overworked, but everything was clean and homey and positively reeked of glorious, all-encompassing love—the kind Harry had never known before meeting the Weasleys.

"Nice is overrated," Draco stated in Ron's general direction. "But in your case, since tasteful is obviously far out of reach—"

"One more word and you'll find the business end of my wand up your—"

"Ron!" barked Charlie. He pushed in past Draco and yanked Ron over to the side. Though he was quiet, everyone heard his words. "Pull it together. You're Harry's _guard,_ not just some bloke right now. Get serious and do—your—job."

Harry averted his eyes, but managed to catch Ron's defiant and but determined nod.

"Remus, let's go," Charlie said, backing out and rapping the door with his fist. "It's crazy out there. Hell in a handbasket."

Remus turned to them. "We're trusting the three of you to stay together, protect each other and do _not_ go out of this room. It should remain hidden and locked to anyone but Dumbledore and myself."

"Wait, wait a minute," Ron interrupted, pointing to Draco. "What about him? Are we just supposed to trust him with Harry's life? Dean was just Imperioed—"

"Yes, Ron, you should trust him with Harry's life. He's proved himself. He'll explain. I don't have time to go into detail. Do you understand?"

"Yeah."

Harry nodded when Remus looked his way. Remus and Charlie exchanged a frown, but reluctantly turned to go. "Don't leave this room until you hear word. We will find a way no matter what happens."

The door closed with a quiet snick and the three boys eyed each other thoroughly. Draco was the first to move. He slouched over to the couch and collapsed on it. Ron seemed to be too irritated by Draco's existence to keep silent.

"Why did they lock you in here with us?"

Draco bent forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clutched in the sheath of pale, blond hair hanging untidily over his face.

"Leave me alone."

"Oh, come off it!" Ron stalked closer. "Harry just had three attempts on his life, one a back-stabbing betrayal by a best mate, and he's not sitting there moaning and groaning."

"Of course not, you moronic imbecile," Draco looked up venomously. "Harry doesn't moan and groan like a normal person. Everyone knows that. He goes dead silent, which is what he's doing right now and with very good reason. So why don't you be a good sidekick and imitate him?"

Ron stared over at Harry, stunned realization in his eyes. Harry had only half-heard the conversation, misery and something else making his throat tight. He was trying not to think.

"What do you mean, 'very good reason'?"

Draco just snorted in reply, head back in his hands, so Ron continued in a louder voice. "Why did they put you in here with Harry? Is your Daddy still stalking you? Or—" and here Ron's voice quickened with excitement—"was one of the failed attempts yours? Yeah, and now the Death Eaters are after you. That's it, isn't it?"

Draco uncurled his fingers from his hair and slowly looked up, eyes blazing furiously. "No, you miserable clump of no-talent, I am not trying to kill Potter, as I've pointed out to you, as Potter has surely pointed out to you, and as Professor Lupin just underscored for you yet again." He stood and walked until he was toe to toe with Ron. "How do you think Hermione knew the damn Snitch was a Portkey? Divine intervention?" Ron's glance darted to Harry, who looked at Draco with sudden interest.

"Try Draconic intervention and you'd be more correct," Draco drawled as he walked around the furniture. "I waited until as late as I possibly could before giving the Twitchtie girl the message to give to the blond Gryffindork first year. How was I to know it was going to be a record-tying early Snitch sighting?"

"Sure. You waited until the last minute _hoping_ that it would be too late," Ron accused, jabbing a finger in the air.

Draco turned and slowly circled the furniture, eyes burning into Ron's. "No. I waited because I was trying to save my own miserable hide. Very difficult to do when your every move is being watched and reported to your father by the bloody Head Auror installed in the castle. Even more difficult to do when the slightest hint of a tip-off to Harry would prove to the Slytherins and the Death Eaters that I was the traitor all along."

"Fornier was reporting to your father?" Harry jumped in.

"Yes."

"I knew something was going on. So . . ." Harry began slowly, "you told Zimmy to tell Tobias about the Portkey and he told Hermione to stop me."

"I wanted to get word to you sooner, but it would have been the end of me. This way at least I had a shot at escaping."

Harry swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry. "Did your father come to . . . to kill you or me?"

"He was multi-tasking—giving support to the Seven Deadly Slytherins in their attempts, but here to kill them in the event they failed, here to kill me in the event you were warned, and to go after you if all attempts failed."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered.

"He's a very busy bastard of a wizard, isn't he?" Draco drawled.

"But how did he get here," Harry finally thought to ask. "Didn't they see him on the Marauder's Map?"

Draco smiled. "Is that what they call it? Well, I know that Fornier was in charge of the security for the Quidditch match. Professor Lupin only got the map a short time ago, so one of Fornier's men must have had charge of it before now. As for my father, he and Wormtail did some hijacking to get here."

"What did they hijack, a bloody broom?" Ron half-laughed.

"No, actually, Wormtail hijacked your father."

Ron went pale. "What?"

"In rat form. At the Ministry. Rode him home, transformed, took your mother hostage and Polyjuiced your father."

"What?" Harry jumped forward, his fears forgotten. "Are they all right?"

"I don't know about Mr. Weasley. I . . . heard everything third-hand in the rush to come up here. But that was not your father at the game with your mother. That was _my_ father the bastard, holding his wand on your mother the whole time. She helped him get into the Gryffindor side of the stadium where he could overhear any warnings given to you. As soon as he heard Hermione screaming, he left your mother with a warning not to tell a soul or . . . well, Wormtail left someone with your father. Waiting."

"Oh, god," Ron collapsed on the couch. "And there's nothing I can do. I have to stay here. Did Charlie know?"

"Of course. There's a plan. I believe your brothers are in on it."

Ron groaned and hid his face in his hands. Harry felt just as horrible. He paced to the long space behind the couch, mind spinning. He'd done it again. He'd brought danger to the family he loved. And now here he was, holed up like a rat while they went out and tried to protect him. He gritted his teeth.

"There's got to be something we can do." He strode over to the door and tried the handle. Locked. Of course. His wand sprung out of its wrist holster and he aimed it at the door.

"_Alohamora!"_

"Oh, stop being so heroic—" _"Stop it, Harry—"_ Ron and Draco said simultaneously, then stared at each other.

Harry whirled around. "You don't expect me to stay here, do you? I may the only one who can—"

"Harry!" Ron scoffed. "You're not the only bloke who can use a wand, you know. Fred and George can handle it."

Draco raised an eyebrow and faced Ron. "You think just any bloke with a wand can take my father down? You are far too naive."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron faced him angrily. "I get top marks in Defense class. Better than you, for sure."

"Top marks? Try screaming that at my father next time you face him. He'll be very impressed." Draco smiled grimly. "Lucius will use anything and everything against you—the things you love, the things you hate. Lord Voldemort taught him well."

Harry turned back toward the door. His stomach was feeling queasy and his wand arm had started shaking. He shoved the feeling down and tried to focus. "Would you two stop arguing? It doesn't matter. I just have to get out and go help."

"No way, mate," Ron rounded the couch and stood in front of him. "You heard Charlie. I'm your guard and you're staying right here. We'll leave it up to them to help Dad."

"Besides, exactly what do you intend on doing when you do meet up with my father?"

Harry turned to face Draco, dread creeping uncomfortably into the pit of his stomach. "Whatever it takes."

"Really," Draco's gaze traveled over him, sizing him up. "So you plan to stare him down, whip out your wand and tremble so violently that you intimidate him into giving up? Is that your plan?"

"Hey!" Ron shouted.

"Are you calling me a coward?" Harry asked with a very dry mouth.

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous," Draco said, turning away. "Only a fool wouldn't be afraid of my father after what he did to you."

"What he—" Harry's voice choked off.

"Yes, what he did to you. You do remember, don't you? The Portkey, the torture, Malfoy Manor—"

Ron jumped forward, snarling. "Of course he does, you bastard! He doesn't want to talk about it!"

"Then let him tell me himself. Or can he?" Draco raised his eyebrows and gestured for Harry to speak. "Go ahead, Harry. Tell us what happened that night. Or, what didn't happen." His voice grew softer, more intense. "What's it going to be? You know you can't ignore it anymore. This the closest you've gotten to talking about it since that night, isn't it? I understand. But you can't ignore it. No one gets to ignore it, Harry. No one."

Ron shifted uncomfortably next to Harry, obviously unsure of whether he should attack or not.

Harry just stood there in horrified, razor-sharp silence.

"It comes with the word _abuse_, lovely little thing that it is," Draco went on, crossing to the window and staring out at the false landscape around the house. "Packed with neuroses, phobias and nightmares ready-made to order. The stuff Death Eaters live on. So, let's get it out, then." He turned and crossed his arms, leaning back against the window sill. "Let's pull the bloody, worm-ridden boogey-man out of the closet and vivisect him. Are you ready, Harry?"

Harry turned and paced away, his mind opening up to the confusing hurricane of memories despite himself. "I don't . . . I don't . . ."

"He doesn't want to talk about it, all right? Lay off, you sodding bastard!"

Draco made a rude hand gesture. "He has to talk about it and he knows it. Face it, Weasley. He hasn't even told you, his supposed best friend, what happened that night."

"Yeah he has. He just doesn't like going into detail. But you—you want to hear every gory detail, you sick bastard."

"No, _that's_ my father, and I'll thank you to remember the difference. I didn't do it to him."

"Do_ what??"_

Draco glanced at Harry and softened his voice. "You won't be telling me anything new, Potter . . . I've lived with him."

Suddenly Harry remembered using Occlumency on Draco the first time Draco had asked for his trust, and how the spell had shown a memory of Lucius standing with a riding crop in his hand, a young Draco with a bloodied back sobbing before him. Draco did know. He'd been there. Had he—?

Draco went on. "Weasley, on the other hand, has only the smallest of ideas why the name of my father brings more fear into your limbs than the name of Voldemort. That doesn't seem fair, does it, given that he's your best mate?"

Ron wasn't looking at him, but Harry felt the pressure building. He deflected. "I don't remember everything. I—I can't."

"Oh. Well, isn't that just a perfect excuse?"

"If he says he doesn't remember, he doesn't remember, all right?" Ron said threateningly, taking two steps nearer Draco.

"Does. Idiot," Draco bit out sharply. "If he doesn't remember, then why is he upset?"

"I'm not upset," Harry snapped.

"Oh, obviously not. Soooo, if you're _not_ upset, then why don't you just tell us what you _do_ remember about that night?" Draco smiled at him, and Harry had the distinct impression he'd just been outmaneuvered.

The silence grew. Harry waited for Ron to intervene, but he didn't.

_Don't answer,_ he told himself. _You don't have to talk about it. _

He wasn't going to, and he turned away with determination. But he couldn't stop his mind from picking at the idea, puzzling over the question of what did he remember after all of that effort he spent on trying to forget. What _had_ happened that night?

The story started simply enough, with Death Eaters outside of Number Four, Privet Drive, Draco in tow. He had vivid memories of the sight of Draco, and how even though bruised and bloodied, he hadn't seemed like a real person back then. He was a bully who'd finally been out-bullied, and Harry had just felt sorry for the boy, as well as deeply shocked at the callousness of his treatment.

Death Eaters outside Privet Drive. He'd fought them, hadn't he? Put his wand down like they'd demanded, then rolled and come up fighting. It had worked. He'd thought he'd won, except for that one curse, the Concidus that had ripped his arm in a jagged line. He'd been bloody. And somehow, Lucius had known, had _known_ that if Harry had gotten hit by that one curse, Draco would offer Harry his handkerchief to mop up the blood—the Portkey handkerchief.

"You really didn't know it was a Portkey, did you?" Harry asked Draco, turning slightly. Draco shook his head. "I wasn't sure. It seemed so . . . you."

"It wasn't. It was him." And the chilled whisper in Draco's voice, the naked horror in it sucked Harry in deeper. He remembered how it felt to be Portkeyed—the shock, the desperation.

The silence stretched, but Harry was only half-aware of it now. Words were coming, building inside of him like rapids behind a dam. And for some reason, the dam began to leak.

"The Cruciatus Curse." He saw Ron start at the words. "I didn't want to feel that again. It came back to me in a flash, like lightning, what it was like being tied to that gravestone, surrounded by Death Eaters and feeling that curse for the first time. _Anything_ rather than that." Harry licked his lips. He wasn't looking at Ron, but could tell from the absolute stillness of his body that Ron was listening. Draco nodded slowly.

"Anything," Harry repeated. "But . . . there was nothing I could do. It was too fast." He felt as if he needed suddenly for someone to understand, to know why it all happened that way. The dam broke. "Before I could even draw my wand, I was there and he was waiting for me. And he hit me with the Cruciatus before I could even take a breath. It was all over then.

"I remember thinking that Tom must not be there, because my scar wasn't burning worse than anything else. Then the pain took . . . everything. At some point he stopped. Eventually. And I was pulled to my feet. They had to hold me up." Harry found his memory improving by the second. He remembered now quite clearly how his legs trembled and how roughly they'd held him. And Lucius . . .

"He taunted me, and I—I—decided to fight. I threw my head back and smashed it into one Death Eater's face. Then I had a go at the other guy, trying to _Accio_ my wand at the same time."

Harry swallowed. "But before I could grab it, the first guy was back and . . . yes—that was when I got the bloody nose and the black eye. Both punches nearly laid me out, and they were holding me up again when I came back to. Draco's dad . . . he was smiling in that . . . awful way of his . . ."

Again, Harry had to swallow, only this time, he felt like he swallowed words as well and they got stuck. He cleared his throat like mad, but when the words finally came back out, his voice sounded huskier. "I think he threw the Cruciatus on me three or four more times then, I . . . I passed out once. Maybe twice. I thought I might go mad before he stopped."

He glanced over at Ron and saw his friend holding his head in his hands. Harry looked away. In his mind, he was still on the floor, screaming. He _had_ to get past that. "After that, I found myself up again and . . . I'd thrashed off my shirt I guess. Blood from my arm had run all over me; my stomach was covered." Harry paused. "Only, I didn't realize it was from my arm. I was just staring at my stomach, trying to find where all this blood was coming from and when I looked up, he was there in front of me—smiling that smile." Harry's voice had dropped to a raspy whisper, "And he said . . . he said . . . _'Have you ever imagined what revenge feels like, Harry?'" _And then, struggle as he might against his frozen vocal chords, words failed Harry completely.

Silence enclosed about the room like a velvet shroud, unbroken except for Harry's suddenly harsh breathing. Draco, of course, couldn't leave it alone.

"That wasn't all, was it, Harry?"

Though no one was looking at him, Harry felt a hot flush of shame stain his cheeks. His mind would work no further, but his body trembled as the boy went on.

"I know what happened," Draco's voice had sunk to a whisper. "I know exactly what happened." He stood. "You were weak and helpless and he took advantage of it." Harry was already shaking his head, even as Draco moved closer. "He fed off of it. He used your weakness and he humiliated you. _Humiliated_ you!"

"No!" And Harry was on his feet, shaking his head, pointing a finger at Malfoy, shouting words of denial that seemed to bypass his brain. "No—no, shut it! I didn't—wait—"

Draco's cheeked were stained red with emotion, his eyes bright and piercing. "He saw how weak you were and finally unable to fight back. And he moved even closer to you, didn't he?"

"No. No, he didn't." And before he knew what he was dong, Harry was turning to the door. "I don't have to—I—" The locked door. "_Damn."_

"Yes, he did, Harry," Draco went on relentlessly, but in a gentle, hypnotic voice. Harry found himself listening with bated breath. "He moved so close to you that you could smell the vodka on his breath, so close that you had to lean away in order not to touch him, didn't you?"

Harry whirled around, wand out. "_Shut it!"_

But Draco wasn't even looking at him. His voice droned on as if reciting from memory. "He moved even closer. He was going to touch you and there was a horrible moment when you _knew_ that and you knew there was _nothing_ you could do about it. A horrible . . . horrible moment. And then he reached out and slid his hand down your stomach and into your pants—"

"NO!" Harry turned back around and aimed his wand at the coffee table, sending Ron scuttling out of the way. _"REDUCTO!"_ The table blew backwards, crashing loudly as it flew over the couch and splintered into the wall.

Draco continued on even louder. "—down your stomach and into your pants and started stroking you, didn't he?"

Harry froze, his wand arm raised, a spell stuck to his lips. A strangled sound that might have been meant to be a denial came out. He found that he could not move a muscle.

"He does _that_ to show how out-of-control of the situation you really are, and how much mastery he has over you. And he's patient and he waits until you can't help but respond—"

Harry whipped his wand over to Draco, his jaw so tight that he could barely get the words out. "Shut . . . it."

Draco ignored the wand, locked eyes with Harry and did _not_ shut up. "—and then, when you're ready, he stops. And he stands there, breathing in your face, watching your helpless tears and waiting for you to beg, which _you_ didn't do. And he asks you if you know what real pain is, or I guess, for you, he asks if you know what revenge feels like. And then he takes what he's made of you and he crushes it in his hand ruthlessly, and the pain . . . is beyond . . . endurance."

And Harry was there in his mind, back in the mirrored room, seeing the superior, intoxicated smile on Lucius' face, smelling the tang of his own blood and the odor of Lucius' breath, and feeling confusion, excruciating pain and shame that flooded him until he passed out.

Harry's wand clattered to the floor and his knees gave way.

He heard Draco speaking. "There, Weasley. Now you know more than you ever possibly wanted to know. . . I expect you to keep this all to yourself."

Ron didn't answer, but Harry found his friend reaching down to him, his appearance a blurred wash of red hair and freckles. Harry allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and found Ron's steadying hands on his shoulders. Try as he might, Harry couldn't look him full in the face.

"It's a good thing for that bastard I'm locked up in here. When I catch up with him . . ." Ron shook his head and clapped Harry on the shoulder once, hard. Harry, looking up, found such a blinding mix of sympathy, pain, anger and loyalty in the blue eyes that he had to look back down again.

"That bastard's mine," Ron whispered. He squeezed Harry's shoulders once and turned away to punch the wall with a surprisingly spongy _thwock._

"Hmmm. They must have seen that one coming," Draco pointed out, rather unnecessarily. "And, Weasley—the only way you're getting my father is if you beat me to him."

_And me,_ Harry thought rather hollowly, feeling as if someone had carved out his emotions like the innards of a jack-o-lantern. He sat on the couch and leaned over, elbows on his knees. The story of what had happened to him was palpable in the air, hanging over his head like a cloud of poisonous perfume. Never had he felt less like a saviour, less like The One.

As he buried his face in his hands, the sudden memory of Ginny came to him as she she'd looked at him only moments before, slight worry in her velvety brown eyes, firmness in her voice as she'd said softly, _"I love you, Harry." _

Buried emotions suddenly rolled over him, shook him, and he gripped that moment like a lifeline. His face was wet, his body trembling, but he was loved and he knew it.

He was **loved.**


	27. Panic and Pandemonium in Eight Parts

_Chapter Twenty-Five: Panic and Pandemonium, in Eight Parts_

"Where's Fornier?" Charlie said tightly, his voice barely registering with Remus as he studied the Marauder's Map with growing concern.

"I don't see him anywhere."

Charlie swore colorfully then tried to take a few calming breaths. "What about Fred and George?"

"Nooo . . . I don't see them, either. I'll check with Minerva." Keeping his eyes on the map, Remus tapped his wand on the colorful splash on the corner, which looked like nothing so much as a haphazard drip from an obnoxiously-colored candle. In a few seconds, Professor McGonagall's wilted voice could be heard.

"Terrible news, Remus. The Aurors must have let Lucius through. Theodore Nott and Rawley Hughes were found dead in the Slytherin Common Room. None of the students will say what happened."

Horror froze Remus for a long moment. "Where is Severus? Shouldn't he have been with the Slytherins?"

"Yes, of course he should have, but no one seems to know where he's gone. Could the Marauders' Map possibly come in handy in that respect?" Sharp sarcasm bit into the words, but Remus knew worry when he heard it.

"I see him but—" Remus registered the name _"Snape, Severus"_ just as he saw the name beside it: _"Malfoy, Lucius."_

"Bugger," said Charlie, looking over Remus' shoulder, "he's with Lucius."

McGonagall inhaled sharply. For a long moment, no one said anything. Remus and Charlie exchanged a glance. It could mean anything. Severus could be intercepting the dangerous party in order to put him off, or, the unthinkable—he could be helping him.

"Surely he's trying to contain the wizard," McGonagall said in a once-again firm voice. "Dumbledore is on his way to the Infirmary. Perhaps it would be a good idea to accompany him . . ."

As she trailed off, Remus agreed with her, then asked the status of the students in Gryffindor. McGonagall said that half of them had been put through the Emergency Floo in the Common Room fireplace. All Hogwarts students were being evacuated after the attack on Harry and the arrival of Lucius.

Charlie looked disturbed when McGonagall replied to his question about the twins by saying they had not checked back in. McGonagall expressed concern over Harry's safety, which Remus was able to assuage with his news that Harry, Draco and Ron were locked in the Room of Requirement.

"Good news, indeed," she said with a satisfied air. "However, you should keep a guard posted outside, as no wizard since Houdini has ever been able to find a way into and out of scrapes as well as our Mr. Potter."

"Duly noted," Remus agreed and signed off, wondering where he'd find someone to spare in all the chaos.

Charlie moved ahead to the corner and looked both ways. "How difficult is it to stick your head back through the Floo and let people know that you're okay?" he groused as Remus caught him up. "You'd think, since there's two of them to make decisions, they'd occasionally remember to be thoughtful. How long have they been gone?"

"Nearly an hour. Molly wasted no time in getting news to us that Arthur wasn't himself. She's a brave witch to be so bold after spending hours with Lucius."

Charlie clenched his fists so hard that several of his knuckles popped. "He'd better not have laid a _finger _on her."

Remus was silent so long, trying to contain the sudden pain he felt, that Charlie looked back at him.

"What is it? Remus. Did he do something to Mum?" Charlie's voice rose precariously on the last word, but Remus was already shaking his head. "Then . . . what?"

Remus took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, rubbing a hand over his face. "If I ever doubted that Lucius had abused Harry in a way other than what we expressly knew of . . . well, I . . . have no doubts now."

"But Snape _said—"_

"I have _no _doubts."

Charlie studied his face before turning to swearing violent curses under his breath. "Then do we have any doubts that Severus is helping Lucius right now?"

"Hardly," Remus said stone-faced.

"Did Harry tell you . . . never mind. Stupid question. Don't need to know anyway. Need to focus."

"Right."

"Need to get to Lucius. And if Wormtail hurts my father, they'll be burying him in a matchbox. Him _and_ Lucius."

"Wait—" Remus raised a hand. "Aurors Mitchington, Helbrams coming up the stairs on the right."

Charlie paused. "Mitchington and Helbrams?"

"Hired by Fornier. Unknown allegiance."

"Do we have time to take them down?"

"Not if we want to catch Dumbledore. He's on the move again, heading downstairs from the Gryffindor Common Room. Severus and Lucius are still on the second floor, not moving." Remus paused, clicking through possible scenarios. "Let's go down on the left."

"Agreed."

Moving quickly and quietly, the pair covered the distance to the stairs and started down. Remus checked the map to make sure the Aurors weren't following. Instead, they were moving toward the Gryffindor Common Room, where, just outside, the names _"Wafting, Tobias"_ and _"Twitchtie, Uzima"_ had appeared.

Remus froze. "What do they think they're doing?"

Charlie turned. "Who? The twins? Harry and Ron?"

"No," Remus shook his head. "First years, in the direct paths of the Aurors. They've—" then he paused. "No—they just ducked into the corridor leading to the Headmaster's office. Curious, though they may have simply heard the Aurors' footsteps."

As he watched, the two students headed far down the corridor until they should have been behind the guarding gargoyle.

To his further surprise, they entered the Headmaster's office.

"But the Headmaster isn't even there," Remus said softly. "How . . .?"

Back down the corridor, the two Aurors hesitated at the corner and then continued on to the base of the Gryffindor Tower, where Remus knew the Fat Lady and the recently-installed gargoyle would do their jobs and repel the Aurors neatly. He took a deep breath. "The students are safe and the Aurors are now knocking around outside Gryffindor Tower."

"Good luck to them," Charlie grinned with wicked eyes. "Let's go catch Professor Dumbledore."

* * *

Tobias did not let go of Zimmy's hand even after they had gained entrance into the Headmaster's office. "Hullo?" he called out into the quiet, still air. Dust motes drifted lazily through the sunbeams that lit the room. Far through the windows, Tobias caught a glimpse of the milling crowd still outside and frowned.

"Are you sure we should be in here?" Zimmy asked quietly. "It doesn't seem quite right."

Tobias turned back to look at Zimmy. He wasn't surprised to see tears still standing in her eyes. "The Headmaster told us to come here, remember?"

Her gaze met his miserably. "But still . . . it doesn't seem right." She pulled her hand away to wipe at tears as they began to fall again.

Tobias took a deep breath and stepped toward her. Awkwardly, he put one arm around her shoulders and bent his head, trying to see into her eyes. He wanted to reassure her. To his surprise, she turned and buried her face in his chest; sobs making her whole frame shake.

Tobias froze, then started gently patting her on the back, trying to remember what Harry did when Ginny was upset. Not that she was often, but hadn't there been once or twice when she was worried and he'd held her like this? He'd more often seen Ron and Hermione interact, but since she usually ended up mad at Ron, Tobias had decided not to copy Ron's moves.

"Listen," he croaked, then cleared his throat, "you're safe now. I won't let them get to you."

"But everyone's going _home_ and I can't go!" she sobbed. "Even Nelda and Primmy get to go home, but not me!"

Tobias sighed. She was right, and it was all his fault. She'd come to him today, desperate, warning him that Harry was in danger. Thoughtlessly, he'd left Zimmy where she stood and run to Hermione, yelling everything at her from two rows away. All the Gryffindors had heard Zimmy's warning, which did help speed up things a bit, but now he knew better. He should have _known_ the Slytherins had spies among them, even if there was no way he could have foreseen that Lucius Malfoy himself had been there in disguise.

Now Lucius was after Draco for again being a traitor, as well as Zimmy and Tobias for foiling the plan. The worst part was that it wasn't just Lucius, but all the Slytherins who had sworn to kill Harry, too. The castle was not safe for any of them now.

Even worse, Zimmy's family were dark wizards through and through, and leaving the castle might put Zimmy in even worse jeopardy. She'd said goodbye to her sisters, after they'd sworn to let her know if and when it was safe to go home. All three of them had been spying for the light side while at school, though their parents thought differently. Only two of them could keep up the charade now.

After leaving the sisters, Zimmy and Tobias had run to the Gryffindor Common Room, where Professor Dumbledore listened gravely to their story and warned them of dangers they'd had no idea about.

Tobias shuddered as images of his previous capture and brief torture went through his mind. Harry and Ron had rescued him that time. This time, they wouldn't be able to help. Tobias swallowed. He couldn't let that happen to Zimmy, nor did he have any desire to repeat the experience. For now, they would stay here and wait safely. Before he had left for the Hospital Wing, Dumbledore had assured them that this was just what Harry was doing at the moment.

_Harry? Hiding safely?_ Somehow, Tobias didn't think that would last long.

* * *

"_Stay down, you two!"_ Tonks shouted, her voice muffled by the tapestry. **_"Petrificus Totalus!"_**

"We are!" Ginny hissed back as she crouched beside Hermione. Anger broiled in her veins.

"Maybe we should just take the shortcut down to the second floor," Hermione suggested. "Then we can come up the—"

"We don't _want_ to go to the second floor," Ginny hissed. "We want to get to the Hospital Wing for Cho—and Dean! It makes no sense to carry them down and then back up again."

"It does if this way is blocked by Aurors with evil intent!"

"_Aurors with evil intent?"_

"Don't make fun, Ginny—this is not the time for it!"

Ginny ground her teeth. Everyone treated her like she was incapable of doing anything, when she could do anything the Order members could—sometimes better. Suddenly, she knew why she was so angry, and her way seemed brilliantly clear. "I'm going back up."

"NO! Ginny! We have to take Cho—"

"_You_ have to take Cho," Ginny retorted, already pushing her way out of the tapestry.

"But, Ginny—"

Ginny gave one look back. "I have to go help Harry."

Hermione froze, her mouth open to speak. Ginny was changing—sprouting tawny fur on her face, white fur on her hands and feet. Her clothes disappeared next, showing pleasing, glossy fur all over. Then she shrank, a tail appeared and with a small _shuuuuup,_ Ginny was a cat. It had all happened in a matter of seconds.

"Oh. That's really fair," Hermione huffed.

Ginny knew it still aggravated her that she hadn't been able to study her way into being an Animagus, though, as Ginny had pointed out several times, Harry and Ron hadn't either.

Ginny meowed a small chuckle, nosed the tapestry aside and sinuously ducked under it.

Tonks, high above, was using a shield to repel several curses. When they went flying down the hallway back toward the Aurors, the two men leapt aside. _Perfect timing. _

Ginny sprang for the corridor several yards to the left and zipped inside before any more curses could be thrown.

She knew exactly where she was headed. With her noiseless tread, she zipped down the corridor, using every sense to feel for danger. _Nothing._ But then—well, maybe she didn't know exactly where she was headed. She sighed a cat sigh. When in Hogwarts, one always had to be flexible when dealing with stairways. There wasn't a stairwell there now. Instead, there was a wall. Farther up ahead, there was a single doorway, one that she didn't think she'd noticed before. It smelt interesting to her cat senses—of tears and anguish, desire and despair. And Magic—very strong Magic.

There were no sounds of pursuit behind her. Ginny moved forward and sniffed the air of the room tentatively.

The air was stale, and the emotional fragrances that stained it were not nearly as new as she'd first thought. In fact, they might be years old, and they centered on the object standing tall and imposingly on the other side of the room. It was an enormous mirror, one so high that its top would be out of reach even for Hagrid. Surrounding the mirror were ornate carvings in gold that ended down at its clawed feet. An inscription carved around the top read something that Ginny, so low to the ground, could not make out. She walked closer, glad for the silent pads of her cat feet. Noise would have felt out of place here.

But even when she was closer, the writing at the top remained a mystery to her. She growled in frustration, and raised up to rest her paws on the cool, smooth surface. With a start, she saw that the mirror did not reflect her strange but familiar cat Animagus form.

Instead, she saw herself as she was in human form, but a little older. And here, her face was transformed, not only by age, but by a look that seemed almost alien to her—contentment. Her smile was gentle, her eyes without hardness or mocking, without horror or fear. Curls hung down her back and she suddenly saw a familiar hand comb through the ends. The hand that she knew so well, long and lightly-calloused from hours of Quidditch, moved forward to rest on her stomach. Ginny pulled away from the mirror, balancing on her haunches for a long moment, then fell down on all fours to lope back farther away for a better view.

From this vantage point, she saw the face she loved most in the world, and the expression on his face nearly broke her heart. It was Harry, yes—but a Harry as she'd rarely seen him—no dark circles under his piercing emerald eyes, no hunted, haunted look that spoke volumes about what he would not mention, no weight of impending prophesies to bow down his strong shoulders. Harry—as she desperately wanted him to be one day, older, carefree and loving her.

In the mirror, the two embraced and kissed, and Harry didn't pull away. It was some time before Ginny could leave.

* * *

Hermione stewed for only a minute before concluding that Ginny had been right. She left Cho lying as comfortably as possible on the stairs, made sure Dean was secure and pushed the tapestry out an inch or two. From her vantage point, she could see that Tonks had one Auror down, and had pressed the other back farther down the hallway.

Ginny was nowhere to be seen. _Clever girl._

Hermione pointed her wand out to the side of the tapestry and aimed at the Auror's knees_. "Petrificus Totalus!"_ she whispered, focusing hard and waving her wand just right.

The Auror's heels snapped together and he went backwards with a loud thump.

Tonks let her shield down and wheeled about in surprise. "Hermione. Nice wand work." She shook her head as she went to collect the Aurors' wands. "Now would someone explain to me how it is that_ I'm_ guarding _you?"_

"You did very well, yourself," Hermione said as she renewed her _Mobilicorpus _spell on Cho and lifted her through the tapestry. "But don't try telling the boys we did just fine on our own. Idiocy apparently comes with the male hormones, part and parcel."

Tonks stopped and sighed. "Right you are, mate. Right as rain. Now. On to the Infirmary?"

"Yes."

"And will we be seeing Ginny again, cat form or no?"

"Hmmm . . . I think not. She's gone to help Harry."

Tonks went pale and clapped a hand to her face. "Charlie is going to kill me. Oh, if only I'd gotten a look where she'd gone, but I was too busy!"

"She'll be fine, Tonks. I'm sure of it. And if you need to stay and take care of the Aurors, feel free. I don't need an escor—"

"—Hermione, Lucius Malfoy is running amuck in the castle."

Hermione went pale. "And he . . ."

"Would dearly love to get his hands on anyone Harry loves. _Anyone."_

"Tonks, Hermione?" came Remus' voice from ahead. "We saw you might be in a spot of trouble, but . . . looks as if you've done just fine on your own." Professor Lupin looked tired, but cheered to see them safe. He spun a quick _Incarcerous_ about each of the Aurors.

"Let's go, girls," Charlie appeared at the corner. "We're headed for the Infirmary as well. Only stay back." He paused, looking over the girls before speaking again. "Professor Snape and Lucius Malfoy are two floors down. There's a chance we may intercept them. Let us deal with them. But we've got to hurry if we're going to help Dumbledore."

"Right you are, except for the part about me hanging back," Tonks popped off to get Cho and Dean. Hermione raised her wand and performed a _Mobilicorpus _on Dean when Tonks nodded at her. They fell into a line—Remus, Charlie, Tonks and Hermione, each with a suspended Auror or student.

"Tonks—just—fine. Just keep Hermione to the rear, all right?" Charlie slammed to a halt. "Wait—where's Ginny?"

* * *

Harry listened to the uncomfortable silence grow. He had no idea what to say. Mostly, he felt empty, as though some private dam, filled to brim with stinking, stagnant water, had been broken by a spear thrust—a very pointed and very painful spear. Now that the stream had died down to a trickle, he had no idea what to say.

"Master Harry Potter, sir?"

Harry jerked up. There was Dobby, floating pale and miserable, two meters off the ground.

"How did you get in—oh, never mind," Harry cut himself off, remembering that ghosts went through walls all the time. It just hadn't occurred to him that it would work here as well. "How is Dumbledore?"

Dobby hesitated. "He is being very good, Mister Harry Potter, sir. But . . ."

"But what?"

Dobby somehow managed to fidget in mid-air. "He is going to the Infirmary."

"Is he hurt?"

"No, sir, but . . . it is _dangerous!"_

Harry listened in growing horror as Dobby explained what the Headmaster was walking into and for what purpose. "You **_have_** to find a way to get us out of here!" he finally managed. Ron was already blasting spells at the door.

"Dobby is not _knowing_ a way to get Harry Potter out!" the elf ghost wailed.

"Well then FIND SOMEONE WHO DOES!" Harry bellowed. "Find Remus! Get him up here and GET ME OUT!"

"But the bodies, sir!" Dobby squeaked. "Dobby has to warn you—"

"_**WHAT** BODIES?"_

"The two Slytherins—Nott and Hughes—dead, sir!"

Harry jerked a glance over at Draco, who had gone very pale and very still. Ron exchanged horrified glances with Harry, and then turned back to hurl spells at the door again.

Harry turned back to the house elf ghost. "Find Remus and GET ME OUT OF HERE!" he snarled. "And tell the other House Elves to go to Dumbledore and help him! If he dies, then they're _free!_ And we know most of them don't want that. Do you hear me?"

Dobby blinked his huge eyes, nodded once and disappeared with a whispered, "Yes, sir! To Dumbledore, sir."

Harry started pacing as soon as the House Elf disappeared, fingering his wand compulsively. Hermione and Ginny had been on their way to the Infirmary, too. He should have never agreed to hide like this. He should have fought Remus and started a row rather than be tossed in a locked room like a naughty tomcat. Neutralized. While Lucius ran around the castle with his wand.

Harry's heart beat loud in his ears as his blood sang for revenge.

* * *

Professor Dumbledore strode down the long hallway. Despite his intent, there was no telltale desperation in his movements, only a heady cocktail of adrenaline, purpose and the culmination of years of preparation singing in his veins. He felt almost fifty again, and a jaunty tune was bubbling to the surface. Just as he began to whistle, the distant Infirmary doors whispered open—and Severus Snape stepped out.

"Severus—" and the warm words of greeting died on the Headmaster's lips. He faltered to a stop. "Why are you not supervising the exodus of the Slytherins?" his voice echoed down the hallway.

A familiar sneer settled on the dark man's face, but did it have a new flavor? Was that . . .

"Always so concerned for the students. How touching. I'm not sure the history books will quite do you justice. Here you are, moments away from annihilation and yet, you are completely unconcerned. It must be that pesky optimism you exhibit so often."

_No._ Despair crushed Albus' light heart like a tower of stone. His whole world shifted, turned and flattened out, all the while a smile played on his lips. "Forgive me, old friend. Someone must counter the damaging effect of your unique blend of cynicism, narcissism and pessimism, Severus." Further words died on his tongue at the appearance of another wizard, and immediately the pieces began to fall into place. _Ah, yes . . ._

"Lucius, we meet again," Albus' smile widened, which drew a startled look from Lucius that quickly eased into a smile.

"Albus," Lucius inclined his head, which was still ridding itself of Arthur's russet-colored tones. "I'm afraid your plans may have to be altered, that is, if you were planning to gain entrance to the Infirmary. Lord Voldemort has ordered otherwise."

"Indeed?" the Professor said slowly, taking a quick glance at Severus, whose face showed only what it wanted to show. Then he sighed. "Flexibility is the key to a long life. However, I believe that it lies at your feet today to make the necessary adjustments. I must insist that you move aside."

Severus and Lucius stepped in closer together and raised their wands, disdaining further talk, seeming to enjoy the Headmaster's surprise. Albus felt a deep pang of darkest grief at the doubts that once again assailed him before beginning the summoning of his magic. How to clear the way without injuring one for whom he had spent so much of his own lifeblood? Even now, his heart fluttered like a canary in a cage, crying out that Severus must be acting under the influence of dark magic, must be planning to switch sides at the last possible moment . . .

But no matter. The result was the same and it had to be dealt with. _Now._

Closing his eyes, simultaneously blocking the powerful spells spun his way, he opened his hands and readied a curse—

_Pfftt! _

_Pffttt!_

Dumbledore held his magic in check, watching in delighted amazement as House Elves careened into the hallway—thirty of them at least, scattering in all directions and facing the three wizards, two of whom seemed pleased to see them. Albus only had time to wonder at this before the first House Elf curses were shot—in his direction.

* * *

"For the last time, everyone stand back!" McGonagall's voice cracked on the last word, showing the strain of the past hour.

"Stand back, she said!" Neville echoed, putting down the bucket of Floo Powder to help to sort the students back into a line. "Back you beasts," he said with a stilted grin, barely managing to get a smile out of the frightened second year at the front of the line. "Let's do a count off! See how many are left."

McGonagall nodded tersely as Ginger Buttons began the count. The line snaked back behind the girl, on for far too long where McGonagall was concerned. "Eighty-four," called the last Gryffindor. _Far too many. Thank goodness for Neville. _Though the boy's face had paled when neither Harry, Ron nor Dean had showed up back at the Common Room, he had been eager to help and volunteered to be the last student to evacuate.

"Get a move on!" called someone in the back, where most of the older students were waiting.

As many voices chimed in, Ginger stepped forward, waving as though she weren't two meters from her teacher. "I'm next, Professor McGonagall!" she said

"Yes, Ginger, that _is_ rather apparent," the professor said tersely. "Now remember to see Madame Hooch once you are there and she will set up your trip home."

The girl nodded, trembling, and took a pinch of powder from the bucket in Neville's hands.

"Goodbye, Ginger. And don't worry," Neville said, smiling as she looked at him with anxious, wet eyes. She nodded again, then turned to wave at the others before stepping forward and pitching the powder into the fireplace. _"Ministry of Magic!"_ she cried into the Floo. Then with a swirl of her skirt, she was gone.

The next second year was getting a pinch of Floo Powder when the fireplace let out a belch of magical fire. Neville jumped back, pulling the younger student behind him.

"But I'm next," she wailed.

Neville shushed her, looking over at McGonagall. His wand was already out.

"Take cover!" She said crisply, striding toward the students. "D.A. students—wands out, protect the younger ones!" There was a reassuring surge of motion from the back of the line, and the front students began to scramble. Then the fire started sparking and something came through. Neville gasped.

A single scream rent the air.

Professor McGonagall turned, wand at the ready.

Ginger Buttons lay on the floor, eyes open wide, body lifeless. She'd been thrust back through the Floo. But that meant—

"TAKE COVER!" McGonagall shouted.

The room exploded into motion. All except for Neville. He was staring down at Ginger, dark familiar emotions keeping him there. He'd _just_ told her not to worry. He'd smiled at her and sent her through the Floo . . . to her death.

There was no time to do more than blink back tears before the wizard stepped through the flames.

Neville looked up, and found himself face to face with Head Auror Claude Fornier.

* * *

Ginny slipped noiselessly up the stairs, her tail twitching. Ahead were some interesting smells—smells that said _"Caution." _She was glad to comply. They seemed to be coming from the direction of Gryffindor Tower. Using her elevated senses, she spied two groaning lumps not far from the gargoyle guarding the Tower. A catty smile curved her lips. She could smell fear and pain, from two men that also smelled of Dark Magic.

No need to worry about them.

She delicately retraced her steps and bounded up the staircase, ready to find Harry. Suddenly, a presence startled her. She froze and fluffed up to twice her usual size, an angry yowl rumbling in her throat. But the ghost that floated overhead was no reason to panic. Unfortunately, that was one cat instinct she had yet to conquer.

Disgusted with herself, she forced herself onward, trying to ignore the puffy fur screaming "Stop and groom me!" with every step. Being a cat could be extremely annoying sometimes.

But then she was up the stairs, smelling dusty, worn stone and faded tapestry, heading for Barnabas the Barmy's wall hanging.

Now, how to get inside? Ginny paced back and forth three times, thinking only of Harry. Could the room feel her desperation? Could it judge need?

Ginny stopped and sat expectantly.

But the answer was no. She settled a furious gaze on the wall and waited, only the twitching tip of her tail giving evidence that she was not a statue. Inside, she was running through the full list of spells, curses and magical devices she knew of, legal and illegal, but nothing seemed promising.

Ginny's ears perked up. Her tail went still. What was that sound? A hissing? She whipped around, eyes searching the stillness, quivering muscles ready for action. It was coming from the stairs. Ginny trained her eyes on the shadowy entrance to the hallway. Who was coming? Again, her ears perked forward. Heavy steps, harsh breathing. Someone big. And closer, much closer, something was coming fast—too fast!

Ginny turned to streak down the hall, a panicked, orange-brown blur. Strong magic was chasing her—something she couldn't fight, coming right up on her, snapping at her heels!

With a sizzling pop, Ginny shot into the air and came down in a fluffy yowl of terror. She landed on her feet, but was terribly, horribly frozen. She couldn't move a muscle. All she could do was watch as two sickly green House Elves sidled up, laughing.

"Garly is sorry the kitty is having such a bad night," said the first, coming down to squat and peer into Ginny's face.

A growl rumbled low in Ginny's chest.

"Don't worry," said the second House Elf, a squattier and squash-nosed version of the first one. "Everyone will be having a bad night tonight." A nasty giggle shook his pinched shoulders. "Bad night for good wizards. Good night for bad wizards."

Garly, the first elf, laughed, his green eyes glittering. "Good night for House Elves. House Elves who follow Him."

Ginny's growl froze in her throat. House Elves who followed Voldemort? Was that even possible? Panic clawed at her chest, even as the heavy footsteps she'd heard earlier suddenly reappeared.

"You did it! You found her!" Millicent Bulstrode? Ginny couldn't look up into the girl's face, but there were thick tears clogging her voice. "Yes! Now I can give Potter what he's got coming to him. And it'll all . . . finally . . . be over. Finally."

* * *

A/N: House Points to Millicent--she's right. We are ending this story with the next two chapters . . . so get ready! 


	28. The Ending is Beginning

_Chapter Twenty-Six: The Ending is Beginning_

Harry Potter was pacing furiously, still in the Quidditch uniform he'd worn so many hours ago. Up and down the room that looked uncannily like the Weasley's living room, back and forth. His gaze jetted around the room as he wiped at some of the grime on his face from—what? Quidditch or diving around the pitch dodging Bludgers or fighting Dean. No matter. What mattered was that he had to get to the Infirmary. He had to stop Dumbledore from sacrificing himself. Things weren't that desperate. Not even with Snape joining forces with Lucius as they suspected, not even with Fornier's Aurors and turncoat House Elves running loose in the castle.

_No. There has to be another way. If only someone would let me out, then maybe I could __**stop**__ him—_

Harry slowed to a stop. _Which is probably why he made sure I'm locked up . . ._

The Headmaster had been planning this. But it was suicide! Harry's chest constricted and his already gritty eyes filled once again.

Vividly, he remembered the first time he'd come to Hogwarts. It was enough to find out that he'd had a life apart from the misery he'd known in the Muggle World. And then, to find out that not only was he a wizard, but an already-famous wizard. He hadn't known Albus Dumbledore very well then, but by the end of the year, he'd seen the pride in the wizard's eyes when he looked at Harry, and the love, and something else, some other emotion he hadn't ever been able to identify.

Even seeing Tom's vapor-self, feeling the cold horror of pure evil, and hearing that somehow, he would fight that thing hadn't truly shaken him. Albus Dumbledore's presence had made Harry feel secure. Indeed, so secure that Harry had always been hopeful during the following years, even when he'd encountered Tom's diary-self and a Basilisk, Sirius and his tragic story within a story, and the tasks of the Triwizard Tournament.

It wasn't until the end of Fourth Year, when Tom had plotted so expertly and lured Harry away from safety of Hogwarts that Harry's faith in Dumbledore's omnipotence had been severely shaken. But the events at the end of Fifth Year, after a long year of feeling abandoned by Dumbledore and the horrifying desire to attack his Headmaster, had only reinforced Harry's faith.

He'd been so desolate after Sirius' death that the fight had left him entirely. He had stood there, awaiting Tom's Killing Curse. But Professor Dumbledore had saved him. The Headmaster had fought Tom Wizard to Wizard, and had won easily. Tom had been forced to try to take Harry over in order to beat the older Wizard. It hadn't worked.

Harry had survived. After he had recovered, and after the long, bloody summer that followed, Harry had accepted the Prophecy and steeled himself for the fight. In essence, he always believed he would need to be as powerful as Dumbledore to beat Tom. He had studied hard, trained hard, but he wasn't ready yet.

"_Harry?"_ Ron's voice called from a long distance.

Harry shook his head and moved away, his thoughts focused on the past.

All the preparation. All the fighting. All the surviving—six death attempts in one year. Why? Without the Headmaster there, what hope was there?

_Hope . . .? _

They called him the One, but he would never be enough.

"_...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

It would always come down to Harry. His survival, his very existence showed the world that there was hope in the face of ultimate evil.

The Headmaster had known that—truthfully, he had known it from the beginning. That was the other emotion in his eyes, the one Harry could never quite read—hope. Dumbledore had always given Harry hope, and yet somehow, Harry had returned it.

Hope.

His role in this war—hope. And all of those things that had changed him from the eleven-year-old, Muggle-raised innocent that he had been—Draco's taunting, Tom's Diary, the Basilisk, Dementors, Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Cedric's death, Occlumency, Umbridge, Sirius' death, Procclumency, poisoning, Lucius, the Seven Deadly Slytherins, Fornier—it had all been preparation. Preparation for the final battle against Tom, against the anathema of Lord Voldemort.

In the end, just as Tom's attack on him as a baby had given him Lily's protection, the evil he had been exposed to had only made him stronger. Through it all, he had found love and hope, and determination to keep them both.

". . . forgotten what helping Potter has cost me . . ."

From somewhere far away, he heard Ron and Draco arguing.

"Your friends made the wrong choice—"

"Death or cooperation is _not_ a choice!"

"Maybe not for a coward . . ."

Those two opposites, those two enemies. And yet, somehow they were both here, helping Harry. The Sorting Hat's song at the beginning of the year had spoken of just this thing: of the Houses uniting to fight Tom. He couldn't recall the words, but there had been the statement that if they didn't work together, they would die.

Had they worked together? Some of them had—the D.A., Draco, Tobias and Zimmy. And suddenly, he knew that they were part of the answer. His friends, his family. Ron, Draco, Hermione, Neville, Tobias . . . and Ginny. The Weasleys. Remus. Tonks.

They were in this with him, and that's where his hope—

"Dobby is so sorry. So very sorry!"

Harry whipped around to see the House Elf floating through the wall again.

"Why? What's _happened?"_

"Bad House Elves! _Very_ bad House Elves. Attacking the Headmaster and Harry Potter's friends!"

"_WHAT???!!"_ Harry's mind rushed through all the friends unaccounted for—were they dead? Injured?

"And the Manticore!"

"**WHAT???!!!" **

"Not the Manticore again," Draco said peevishly. "Can we _please_ not do the Manticore again?"

"I thought it was dead . . ." Harry's brain leapt to the memory of his eventful trip to Hogwarts, when he had fought off a Manticore by calling up six poisonous serpents. At least two had bitten the beast, giving Harry the opportunity to slip away with the help of his Summoned Firebolt, which Draco had unfortunately been riding at the time. Draco had not been happy.

Harry dragged his mind to the present. "Dobby! Back up! Have the House Elves hurt anyone?"

"Not all House Elves are going bad," Dobby corrected anxiously. "Some is helping Professor Dumbledore get to the Infirmary. Some is keeping bad Master and bad Potions teacher away."

"I knew it!" Ron yelled, "Snape's with them, isn't he?"

"And where is the Manticore?" Harry thrust in.

"He is being on the Quidditch Pitch, calling your name," Dobby whispered, covering his eyes with his hands. "Dobby is so sorry, Mister Harry Potter, but you must be being running for your life! Death is everywhere!"

Harry clenched his wand tightly. "No. I'm not running. You have to get me out there! **NOW!!!"**

"Oh—no! It's not safe!!! And Dobby doesn't know how anyway!"

"Well, how else—" Harry cut himself off as a small tremor shook the castle, almost as if it were a beast preparing to rise to its feet.

"Bloody hell," whispered Ron, wand out, looking around nervously. Draco was standing two meters away, arms crossed. He, too, was watching the walls, from which a sound like a breathless sigh emanated.

Dobby floated closer to Harry. "That would be being the Headmaster Spell. Professor Dumbledore have been making it to the Infirmary." The House Elf's eyes swam with misty tears. "He's gone."

"No," Harry whispered. His heart clenched so tightly that he bent under the pain of it.

"Dobby will be going to find a way out of here for Mister Harry Potter," Dobby said in a quavering voice. "Dobby will return." Harry nodded and Dobby misted back through the wall. Silence reigned for a long moment.

"Hell in a hand basket, mate. A Manticore on the Quidditch Pitch? He had to do it," Ron concluded in a strained voice. "Maybe now we'll be able to get out."

Harry nodded. He still wasn't sure exactly how it worked, but Dobby had said that when a Headmaster . . . died, or at any point he deemed the castle in danger, he could choose to give his magic to the school. That explained the feeling he'd always had that Hogwarts was alive. Headmasters had made this sacrifice before.

Another tremor. A sigh from the floor beneath them. The boys all took an unconscious step back.

"All this talk of leaving is preposterous," Draco bit out. "We were put here for protection—for a reason."

Harry looked him dead in the eye. "I don't _need_ protection, not anymore. I need to fight." He wanted to go on, to say something about destiny and all the sacrifices that others had made to get him here. It was suddenly obvious to him that he had been freed of his fear of Lucius, whether from exposure or sympathy or simple necessity in the light of what was to come. All these thoughts were in his mind, but words failed him and Harry simply turned away.

A sudden whisper of wind blew up between the boys in the room, picking up motes that sparkled and shone in the gathering dark. Wait—was it getting darker?

"Oi! What's tha'?"

"Headmaster's magic, dolt—pay attention," Draco snapped loudly over the loud wind, which was increasing in speed. Harry held his hands up in front of his watering eyes, trying to see the center of the room in case something unpleasant was appearing.

It shouldn't, but then—

With a sudden _craaaaaaaaack_, the wall behind Ron suddenly split open. Ron vaulted toward Harry and turned just in time to see the split widen.

The wind died away, sending its glittering dust deep into the new, gaping doorway, where it lit up a descending stone stairway before winking out altogether.

Harry smiled grimly. _"Lumos."_ The tip of his wand sparked and he started forward, Ron immediately behind him.

"About bloody time," Ron said loudly.

"Where are you going?" Draco called after them sharply.

"Down," Harry called back over his shoulder. "You're welcome to come."

"That's just what we need," Ron groused. "Someone to baby-sit while we fight for our lives."

Draco snapped back something about his father, but by then, Harry and Ron had already made two turns in the cool, dark tunnel and couldn't be bothered to understand him. The glowing glitter had gone cascading down the steps, washing the rough-hewn stone walls that led to who-knows-where with a silvery glow.

By all that Harry knew about the architecture of the school, this tunnel couldn't exist. Its path led out beyond the stone wall of Hogwarts. "Where do you think we're heading?" Ron asked after they had traveled down for what they believed to be at least two floors.

"Not sure," Harry admitted, gripping his wand more tightly, "but probably where we're needed the most."

"Don't suppose this goes all the way to the Burrow then, does it?" Ron muttered and Harry felt a pang. He'd almost forgotten Mr. Weasley's predicament. He was being held a captive by Wormtail.

"Surely Fred and George have straightened things out there by now," Harry said positively. Hope. They had to keep hope. Even in the face of absolute chaos.

Harry paused. Ahead, the light of his wand showed the tunnel splitting three ways, with one path leading level to the right, one leading straight ahead and up, and the other bending down to the left. The glittering specks that had led and accompanied them this far was no help at all. They ended on the last stair below.

Ron swore loudly. "How can we be needed the most in three different places? Even if we split up, we couldn't cover them all."

"Giving up already?" Draco's cold voice sounded from behind. "I thought heroes were supposed to be tenacious as well bull-headed."

Ron snorted, then turned a derisive face toward the Slytherin. "Yeah, that's right. Take the coward's advantage: snipe at anyone who takes direct action."

"Direct action? You call running willy-nilly down a set of magical steps taking direct action? They could be leading anywhere!"

Harry blocked them out as they continued to bicker. The choice before him was a difficult one to make. Ostensibly, they could split up and each check out one path, to see where it led. Once upon a time, he might have jumped at the chance to fight alone. But he had changed. Now he intended to face Tom with as many of his friends as he could, though he needed to talk with Hermione before he could be sure of the plan budding in his mind.

Which way led to the Quidditch Pitch? Was he needed more there, to fight the Manticore (not that any of his spells had pierced its hide before) or at the Infirmary to take on the House Elves? He'd never fought House Elves before, and didn't relish the thought. What about the other students? What about the Aurors searching for him? Was Lucius harming anyone else in his frustrated quest to find Harry and Draco?

"The Infirmary is that way," Harry said abruptly. "Let's go left." He gave the other two a cursory glance and started down. Ron grunted in agreement before following. Neither of them mentioned that Hermione and Ginny had been sent with Tonks to the Infirmary, the same place where Dobby had said the House Elves had been attacking Dumbledore, but Harry's mind couldn't leave the possibilities alone.

"And am I allowed to come?" Draco called after them.

"Bugger off," Ron groused.

"Oh, all right. I promise not to get in the way of any male-bonding you Gryffindors feel the need to engage in. Kissing, fondling—whatever."

Harry had to smile, though the Slytherin had managed to hit a raw spot after that conversation they'd had upstairs.

Ron gestured toward Draco. "And you trust this—"

"Skip the unimaginative epithets for once, please," Draco interrupted, "Wouldn't want you to strain yourself."

"Yes," Harry said, "I do trust him." His eyes caught Draco's, where he caught a faint expression of pleasure. "Unless a Manticore shows up."

Draco harrumphed. "Even _you_ were terrified of that thing, and you have the self- preservation instinct of a suicidal House Elf."

"He does not!" Ron said forcefully, "He's going to survive this and I'm going to make sure he does."

"You needn't say that as if it makes you some sort of a martyr. Have you honestly not noticed that for the past six years, the entirety of Hogwarts has been investing in this . . . Savior," Draco said with a slight nod in Harry's direction. "If he dies, there is no hope. By saving him, you're merely saving yourself."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "That's _not_ why I'm doing it! He's my best friend, you slimy Halitoad! I don't care if he saves the whole bloomin' world or not—I just know he's not going to die trying to do it. Not while I'm around."

Draco raised his palms as if to say _What am I supposed to do with that sort of logic?_

Harry flushed uncomfortably, warmed through by Ron's loyalty. "We're all fighting on the same side now, that's what's important. It will never be more important than today."

Ron looked at him gravely. "You think this is it, then—I mean, the prophecy and all that?"

Harry nodded. He could feel it—the mechanisms of Fate wound tightly, waiting to be sprung. Emotions flitted through him—dread, excitement, determination—each one gaining strength by the second. _Ginny._ He wanted to see Ginny one more time, hold her and tell her how he felt.

"_Harry,"_ Ron said uncertainly, but Harry gestured for him to be still.

It was time. Everything he had been training for, everything he had suffered, everything he had hoped and feared . . . whatever it all meant . . . it was happening. He could feel it.

The ending was beginning—now

The word echoed in his brain like a gong. _Now. _

"We need to go." Harry looked at Ron.

"I'm with you," his friend returned firmly. Harry took a deep breath and turned to lead the way down, gripping his wand tightly. Ron and Draco followed.

"I must say," Draco said idly after a minute, his footfalls slow and deliberate, "even though I was expecting it, _that_ was a perfectly ghastly specimen of Gryffindor male bonding. It's going to take weeks to get out of my head." Draco sighed. "Necessity does make for strange bedfellows."

"'Bedfellows?' What the ruddy hell are you talking about?"

And with that exchange, Ron and Draco returned to their bickering, only without the usual degree of malice.

They descended more quickly now. Finally, just as Harry was becoming irritated by the suspicion that the tunnel was leading them to the Great Hall instead of the Infirmary, the stairs ended—in a blank stone wall. A wind spun around the tunnel, picking up the strange, whirling specks and blowing them around the stone tunnel violently. The wall cracked open before them. Noises filled the space immediately, the murmur of voices and growing more distant, the sounds of yells and dueling. It sounded as if the battle were over.

He said softly to his friends, _"Wait—"_ With a tap of his wand, he Disillusioned himself and Ron. Draco followed suit. _"Follow me,"_ Harry whispered. Outside, it had grown ominously quiet.

A suit of armor stood directly in front of them, and Harry crept around it cautiously. He was immediately assaulted by the recollection of hiding behind this armor while escaping the Infirmary to go rescue Charlie. He shook off the memory and looked toward the Infirmary doors. Harry gasped. Bodies littered the ground—mostly House Elves. But piled up lifelessly at one end of the hallway was a tangle of humans.

Three House Elves were busily checking them—there were at least five or six. No one else was in sight. Had Dumbledore made it to the Infirmary? He wasn't on the ground—he, nor Snape or Lucius. _But—_

Harry's breath stalled as he recognized Hermione's red shirt and Cho's blue Quidditch uniform.

He jumped forward and, from the sound of it, was only seconds behind Ron who was already cursing and slinging a Bludgeoning Spell—loudly—announcing their position to everyone.

Which is why there was an immediate volley of curses sent their way. _Curses?_ House Elves didn't use wands, but apparently, they fought the same as Wizards. Harry focused his thoughts. The three Curses from ahead were expected. But from behind—he Sensed five more. No time to warn anyone.

Harry heard Draco grunt as he dove away and then everything slowed. There was no sound but Harry's own breathing. He Sensed eight jets of light streaming his way straight like arrows, red and angry. Shielding would announce his position—too dangerous. One jet of light ended near the ground, where Ron must have flung himself and put up a shield. The curses weren't all on target, but in any direction Harry went to avoid one curse, he would hit another. He could see the moves in his mind like a puzzle—the possible moves, the outcomes. Two more curses still coming and Harry was running out of time.

The first one was here. He would just have to—

_Duck this one—_

_Dive right—_

_Roll—_

_Turn and jump that curse—_

_Leap—_

_Arch back—farther—and kick over . . . now!_

Two more jets spun by. Harry dropped to one knee and took a breath. He couldn't see the others, but he could Sense them. Closing his eyes, Harry found Ron ahead, now Shielding behind him and firing on the three House Elves ahead. The Elves Apparated. Gone. _Where the—_

Then they were all there again, but on the other side of Ron—all firing in his direction. _Damn!_

"_Behind you, Ron!"_

But Draco had decided to enter the fray. From his position against the far wall, he spun curses at the Elves on the heels of theirs, trying to catch them off guard. They blocked the Reducto Curses and turned to fire in Draco's direction. Draco was already gone. He was fighting smarter than Ron, using his invisibility as a weapon.

As for Ron, Harry couldn't see him, but he thought he must have dodged the Curses. However concerned he was, he had his own problems to think about. Like Five House Elves trying to pick him off. He could tell they didn't really know where he was. They were spinning random curses across the room, most of them coming no closer than a meter to him. But they were smart and using each miss to figure out where he wasn't.

_Could they be Sensing? _

Suddenly, as if they had heard his thoughts, all the House Elves stopped and looked at each other. It was creepy, the way they just looked and seemed to know what to do. They ran forward, past Harry and started firing at the places Ron and Draco had just been. _Perfect._

Harry aimed at their backs and spun what was supposed to be five Impedimentas. However, he only got three of them out before the whole group of House Elves turned on him again. And this time, they knew where he was.

All eight shot as one, and even with his Sensing, Harry barely managed to move quick enough to avoid them. He kept moving ahead—dodging and spinning. But some of the House Elves started throwing curses ahead. They were covering all the ground in the long, narrow hallway now.

Sensing around him, Harry could feel Ron checking the humans. Draco wasn't moving or using Magic. He must be injured now. Harry was on his own and running out of options.

He moved to the left, closer to the wall, and realized his mistake immediately. They knew he was there, and that he had less air to move in. Curses were shot high and low, front and back. Harry would dodge three, only to find number four directly at his head. He'd throw himself to the ground, and find two more aimed at his feet. So far he had managed to dodge them, but how long could he hold out?

His shoulder hit the wall as he twisted away from an Impedimenta Curse, slowing him that much more.

One jet of red shot over his head, one hit beside his right foot and then—the castle began to tremor again.

_Yes!_ Harry thought as he threw himself back and over a Bludgeoning Curse, extending one hand down to the stone floor. _If I can just—_

But suddenly, he was falling back against a wall—a short, stone wall where there hadn't been one.

_What??_

All around him, walls were springing up from the floor, blocking the lower Curses and so quickly that Harry was disoriented, they were blocking the upper Curses as well. Harry lay back against one of the new walls, sucking in air, relieved momentarily. He could no longer see the House Elves at all. At the moment, his Sensing told him that they were all hanging back, probably trying to figure out what was going on.

Harry got to his feet quietly, and ducked when he found that his head topped the walls by a foot. He held still a moment, trying to focus. What he had seen made him break out in cold prickles all over. Walls now reached out from his position at right angles, intersecting with other walls in all directions . . . a maze. It was a maze, like the one in the Triwizard Tournament, only the walls were short. Harry could see over them, giving him an enormous advantage.

And, he reminded himself, these were made out of stone. But still, memories from that day flashed through his mind—the dimness and silence inside the towering hedges, the Blast-Ended Skrewt, the Sphinx, and what came the Triwizard Cup: terror and agony—the blood-baptized beginning of Tom's second bid for world domination.

_Hate._

But there had been love, also. The Weasleys had been there that day, had stood up for him as his family when no one else would have bothered. Ron, Ginny and the rest of them. They'd been their afterward, in the Infirmary. Mrs. Weasley had held him as he could never remember being held before.

_Love—before and after the hate._

That's what he needed to remember. Strengthened, Harry took in a deep breath. Even now, love was providing a barrier for him, a maze not for him to travel, but to protect him.

"_Thank you, sir,"_ Harry whispered, and a pained smile lit his face briefly.

Leaning back, waiting for the House Elves to decide their strategy, he felt in control of things for the first time in a long, long while.

The first thing the House Elves tried was a simple three-at-one-time plan. Harry picked them off easily. Then they tried climbing the walls and making their way inward. Harry put off attacking them just to give them time to feel secure. By the time four of them were tiptoeing along the thin, stone walls, he was aimed and ready. The four Petrified House Elves hit the floor in a series of thuds that echoed all along the hallway.

That left one. But a clipped, angry Curse from outside the maze followed by a cry and a thud told Harry that at last Draco had weighed in, obviously not too injured to participate.

Harry wasted no time. He ran through the maze, glad to see them disappearing back into the floor as he ran. By the time he reached the front of the maze, he could step over the walls and did so. As he reached the crush of bodies over by the wall, he could hear Ron's heavy breathing and see him lifting Hermione. Around him were lying Lupin, Cho, Dean, Tonks . . .

"Why didn't she use her blasted Portkey?" Ron choked out.

"Is she—" Harry's throat closed before he could finish the question. Hermione was lying, pale and still, in Ron's invisible arms.

"She's alive," Draco said beside them, making Harry jump and then breathe a sigh of relief.

"How do you . . ."

"She's breathing," Draco supplied in answer. "I'll get Madame Pomfrey."

Harry nodded, realizing for the first time that he was trembling. What if Hermione had been killed? He couldn't imagine it—wouldn't let himself think how he would feel, how he would deal with it. He satisfied himself with touching one of her limp hands and then turned to the others strewn around them—including Charlie and Professor Flitwick, who he hadn't noticed before. Harry knelt and looked at each of them in turn. None of them were dead—all unconscious except for Dean who was still Petrified. Harry's jaw tightened.

How had the House Elves gotten the best of them so easily? Harry shook his head, knowing the answer to that. If Dumbledore hadn't . . . if Hogwarts itself hadn't come to his rescue, the House Elves would have gotten him easily, too.

The good news was that they weren't killing machines, even if they were under someone else's control. The bad news was that this wasn't all of them. Harry stood up and counted the House Elf bodies. Eighteen. He'd seen at least thirty-five to forty House Elves down in the Kitchen at one time, and assumed there were many more. Where were the rest? Where were the "good" House Elves Dobby had mentioned?

A scream came from the Infirmary and Harry was on his feet instantly.

"Is that—is that Madame Pomfrey?" Ron asked, sounding as if he were struggling to with Hermione's limp form in his arms as well as respond to the new crisis.

"_Quiet,"_ Harry moved stealthily to the tall doors at the end of the hall. Just before he reached them, the doors flew open with a bang and Madame Pomfrey herself burst out.

"Do that again, boy, and I'll hex you into next week myself! Where are they? How many are injured?"

Harry, who jumped quickly to the side, heard Draco's protests as they went by.

"I wasn't trying to scare you, as I said. I'm Disillusioned because there are mad House Elves attacking students!" Draco huffed out as Harry followed along, deciding to stay quiet so that Madame Pomfrey wouldn't get another shock.

"Yes, yes—I'm not hard of hearing, you whelp! Now did you say that Harry is out here as well?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry spoke up, cringing from a safe distance away.

Madame Pomfrey yelped and put a hand on her heart. "Don't tell me you're hiding from evil House Elves, too, Mister Potter!"

Harry un-Disillusioned himself sheepishly. "Well . . . they are evil. Look what they did!" He pointed to the bodies just around the corner.

Looking down the line of wounded, Madame Pomfrey clucked her tongue and raised her wand. _"Accio Omnis Rememdium Promalum!"_

Draco, who had un-Disillusioned himself as well, gave Harry an alarmed look and then flattened himself against the wall. The Infirmary doors flew open once again, and a battery of equipment floated out. Harry saw bandages, hundreds of bottles, pans, towels and a large bed circling in the air before continuing on in a line with slow and mesmerizing bounces. He jumped as Madame Pomfrey shouted, "Don't just stand there—spell it down!"

Harry gave Hermione a last look before he scrambled to obey orders, joining Draco as he aimed with his wand and called down the items. They did well, only failing to catch two bottles and the bed, which hit the stone floor with a thud and promptly lost both its headboard and footboard. The bed was Harry's fault, because Madame Pomfrey had distracted him by calling out Remus' injuries, "Concussion, one broken rib and laceration on the left side." The bed nearly came down on Draco.

After making sure Draco wasn't interminably angry, Harry watched Madame Pomfrey's astonishing Healer Spellwork. He'd never seen her attack a room full of injured like this.

First, three bottles measured out dollops of potion and poured themselves into Lupin's Spelled-Open mouth. His body resettled itself more comfortably. The bed multiplied itself, and Lupin rose in the air to lie on the fifth bed, which was still scooting itself slowly until it rested against the wall.

By this time, Madame Pomfrey was moving over to Hermione.

"Can you help her, Madame—"

Her scream echoed around the castle corridors and Harry moved hastily to bop Ron over the head with his wand, rather hard, in order to un-Disillusion him.

"_Ow! _Sorry!" Ron said, grimacing.

Madame Pomfrey had one hand to her heart, and with the other, she cut off Ron's apology. "The next Disillusioned pup I find gets his goods handed to him on a platter. And I _can_ do it, too!" She punctuated her declaration with a jab of her wand, sending small sparks out toward Harry, who jumped back a step or two. "Now,_ let me concentrate,_ you hooligans!

Ron wisely went silent.

"Slight concussion, one broken arm with contusions."

Ron groaned and tried to adjust Hermione so that her injured arm was supported. "Just put her down, you lummox!" Ron shook his head, and Madame Pomfrey lifted her wand.

"If the spell hits you instead of her, young man, you're running a risk, but all right," Madame Pomfrey said sternly, raising her wand. She quickly spelled the potions and moved away as they measured themselves and Hermione accepted them as meekly as if she had been awake.

While Madame Pomfrey spelled Tonks to diagnose her injuries, Draco walked over to Harry.

"Any idea where to next?" he asked as he glanced around nervously. "I don't relish the thought that my father could be on his way." Harry gave Draco a quick look. "It's not as if this were a quiet battle, you know."

Harry nodded, looking intently down the long hallway for the minutest hint that anyone was headed their way. "I just need to make sure everyone's all right. They're still very vulnerable like this. Oh." _The Marauder's Map. _Harry darted over to Remus, who was disturbingly pale but breathing well, and began searching the wizard's pockets gingerly for the map. Draco followed.

"I hate to bring this up—I really do, because I know how your mind works—but wasn't your girlfriend supposed to be with this lot?"

Harry, staring up at Draco, suddenly felt the world retreat away from him. Everything went quiet, and all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart and his own loud, suddenly harsh breathing.

Ron let out a garbled curse. "She's _not_ here . . . Where is she?"

Harry stood slowly with the Marauder's Map in hand, intent on finding Ginny. "She's not here! I don't—I can't see her!"

A grinding noise began nearby. Harry sprinted to the suit of armor and saw what he thought to find—the tunnel had opened again. One of those other ways—could that be where Ginny was, shielded somehow? He spun around. Or had she been taken somewhere outside the castle? To Hell Manor? To _him?_ Harry froze, horrified. Panic was edging its way in. But—no. She had to be here, somewhere. Harry started forward.

"Don't even think it, Potter," Draco said from behind him. He called back to Ron. "The tunnel's open again. You'd better get over here before he runs off on his own."

"I _wasn't_," Harry spat out, then ran back to Ron. "Ginny could be anywhere," he gestured helplessly. "We've got to find her!"

"I can't leave Hermione. She . . ." Ron looked up at Harry helplessly.

Harry nodded. He felt the same way—fractured, split in his worry. "How is she?"

"I dunno," Ron muttered.

"She's fine as fiddlesticks, Ronald Weasley, with all that in her. She should be waking up in . . . well, just about now," Madame Pomfrey said as she waved her wand and Spelled the correct potions for Tonks.

Harry and Ron watched Hermione's face intently. She lay in Ron's arms, limp and helpless-looking, long brown hair streaming over Ron's shoulder. There was a small bruise on her left cheek. Harry felt as taut as a highwire. Would it be too much to ask that these be the _only_ of the injuries given to his friends today? Too much to ask that Ginny be found whole and unharmed?

The smallest of sighs escaped Hermione's lips. Her eyes flickered, then opened, showing confusion and pain in her brown eyes. Harry's heart squeezed tight as Hermione's gaze searched around until they finally focused on Ron's face above her.

"Hermione," Ron said in a shaky voice.

"I thought you'd never get here," she said softly. Then, with another sigh, she closed her eyes and leaned her head on his chest.

Harry and Ron exchanged guilty looks. "Sorry," Ron mumbled. "What happened? I thought Professor Lupin and Charlie were protecting you."

"I'm okay," Hermione said, looking up at him and placing a hand on his arm. "And they did their best, but the House Elves . . . I should have fought better, but I didn't think at first they were on the other side. It was horrible! And after all I tried to do for them! They just popped in and attacked—_ouch,"_ she blanched and lay back in Ron's arms again.

"What is it," Ron asked urgently.

"_My arm,"_ she whispered.

"I'm going to kill 'em," Ron muttered, looking slightly unnerved by his murderous desire.

"Steady, mate," Harry said in a low voice.

Ron nodded, but turned back to Hermione. "Who hurt you?"

"I don't even know. It was so confusing. By the time we got there, Professor Dumbledore had already gone into the Infirmary and Professor Snape—_oh!_ Professor Snape was helping Lucius Malfoy," she looked up at Harry with wide eyes. Harry felt his body grow colder. "He was limping—Lucius was—and Professor Snape was helping him. Professor Lupin and Charlie ran forward to stop them, but suddenly, there were House Elves and Curses everywhere."

"Not all of them were attacking you, right?" Harry asked.

"No. I don't think . . . it seemed evenly divided between those who were attacking us and those who were defending us. But the ones who were helping started Apparating out. I don't know what happened. Is someone is controlling them? Is that why they did this?"

"Duffy might have had something to do with it. After all, the House Elves were on our side up until we started hearing about Duffy. Dobby kept saying weird things were happening. Maybe Duffy turned them against Hogwarts."

"Or Imperiused them," Ron added.

"House Elves can't be Imperiused," Draco put in from over by the wall. "That's one reason why they're put under such strict rule when they're attached to a family. All that power must be harnessed. The House Elves we just fought were free. There's no other way they could have attacked us."

"Oh," Hermione said in a miserable voice. "So when I encouraged them to take clothes with S.P.E.W., they just saw it as an opportunity to turn against Hogwarts?"

"It wasn't your fault, Hermione," Ron said with fervor. "You thought you were doing the right thing and Duffy or whoever-that-was decided to take advantage and make the freed Elves work for Voldemort."

Hermione rested her head against Ron's chest and sighed. Then abruptly, she turned concerned eyes on Harry. "Harry. Did Ginny find you?"

Harry's heart clenched. "No."

"She went back upstairs to help you. I couldn't stop her," Hermione's glance sharpened as she saw the Map. "She's not on there?" Harry shook his head. Hermione's eyes went wide. "Ron, put me down. I'm fine." But she yelped and grimaced as he lowered her down. "Except for my arm." She cradled it against her chest.

"Should be better in a moment, deary," Madame Pomfrey called over. "Glad you're up. Wear a sling for few hours and drink this every three." The sling came over of its own accord and wrapped around Hermione's arm and neck carefully. Hermione disentangled it from her hair. The Potion hurtled itself at them and Harry snatched it out of the air.

"Here," he handed it to her.

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione called over, tucking the medicine into the pouch provided by her sling. She turned to Harry. "Could Ginny be hidden from the map somehow?"

"She _must_ be. Where in the castle is hidden from the map?" he asked desperately.

"_Oi,"_ came a groan from one of the beds. "Am I ever glad we didn't have a House Elf." Charlie was stirring.

"They're mental, the whole lot of them," Ron walked over to his brother with a grin, a slow-moving Hermione tagging along. "How're you?"

"This is nothing." Charlie grinned slowly. "Right, Harry?"

Jittery as he was about Ginny, Harry forced a smile as he walked over to Charlie's other side. "Fresh as a daisy." Despite the fact that Charlie was ashen and his right leg was bloodied besides being turned at an odd angle, he had looked far worse when Harry had rescued him from Hell Manor a month or so before. "I'm beginning to think you've got a crush on Madame Pomfrey, as often as you're in here."

"If that ain't the pot callin' the kettle black, I don't know what is," Charlie chuckled. "After all, Poppy does have her _Potter Emergency Medical Kit_ ready to go at all times. You do know that, right?"

"Does she?"

"Are you kidding? She's a bit cannier than you give her credit for."

"Reckon so."

"Ron, I had word from home." Charlie said, dropping the teasing from his voice.

"You did?"

"Yeah. Fred and George got Dad out all right. They got Wormtail good."

"And Dad's all right?"

"Yeah. Bill said the twinnies were brill. Disguised one of them as some sort of Muggle bad guy—Dark Vader or something like tha'."

"Darth Vader?" Harry said incredulously.

"That's it, yeah. Fred donned a helmet and some black leathers, did some sort of heavy breathing trick and convinced Wormtail it was Voldemort in his new, improved get-up. George tied himself up, pretended to be an injured captive and Wormtail let them both in. Then they kicked his scrawny ass and saved Dad. He was all proud about it. Said the twins were hauling Wormtail to the Ministry and then they'd be back here."

"Brilliant! I wish I could have seen tha'!" Ron said, squeezing Hermione happily.

"Yeah, well, I think Fred modified the helmet to include Omnioculars in the visor. It has instant replay. Who knew they'd turn out to be so damned clever?"

Harry smiled, relieved that Mr. Weasley was all right. "Not your mum, that's for sure."

"Harry, is that you?" came a groan from farther down the hall. Remus Lupin was trying to sit up in bed, holding one side of his ribs tightly. "Harry—what are you doing out of the . . ."

"What am I doing?" Harry was already by his side, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're injured, Remus—lie back."

The older man sighed and let his head fall back on the pillow. "I'll be all right in a minute. Listen, Harry, you shouldn't have left the room, but . . . I'm glad you did. House Elves—"

"Yes, I know. We're on our way downstairs to—"

"No! No, Harry—listen to me. McGonagall contacted me just before the House Elves attacked. Fornier is in the Gryffindor Common Room . . . attacking students—"

"_What?"_ The room went dim in Harry's eyes for a moment. Could things get any worse? He shook his head. "I thought they Flooed everyone out."

"There wasn't time."

"Bloody hell," Charlie said, pushing up off his bed. "I didn't hear that—"

"You were already injured, Charlie," Remus reassured him.

"And don't you even _think_ about getting out of that bed, Mr. Weasley!" Madame Pomfrey called out from where she bent over Dean. "Five more minutes at a minimum for that leg!" Ron and Hermione did their best to ease Charlie back down and reassure him.

Harry turned back to Lupin, his heart filled with dread. Shoving reason aside, he spoke the thing that he'd refused to contemplate. "What about Professor Dumbledore?"

Lupin laid his hand on Harry's arm. "It's too late, Harry. He's already given himself over to the school. There's no turning back."

Falling. His stomach felt like he was falling from a great height. "Where is he? _Where's Dumbledore?"_

"He should still be in the Infirmary, but—_Harry!"_

Something in Harry had snapped. He was running for the Infirmary, desperate to see the Headmaster. Ginny was gone and he needed a minute with Dumbledore. _Just a minute._ Dumbledore would know something.He would _know_ this was the beginning of the end. He would tell Harry what to do.

Behind him, he heard Charlie calling out. "Harry, where are you—_you've got to find Ginny!"_

Ron and Hermione must have told him she was missing. "I know!" Harry yelled back. "I'll be right—"

Harry came to a dead halt and jerked back as the Infirmary doors slammed shut in front of him. He jumped forward and tried to force his hands in the crack, then tried Spelling them open—nothing worked. Breathing hard, blinking back the sudden wetness in his eyes, he stood, trying to gain control.

The others were speaking in low tones that echoed emptily in the corridor. Finally, Harry heard Hermione's and Ron's footsteps. The wall to his right opened to reveal a tunnel. Harry took a steadying breath.

"You all right, mate?" Ron asked quietly, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. Hermione said nothing, just slid her hand inside Harry's arm and laid her head on his arm. Somehow, he did feel better. Harry swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"Harry," Hermione began in a careful tone, "we need to find Ginny."

Harry looked down at her. "We don't know where to look."

"Draco says . . . we should check the Chamber of Secrets."

"But why would—" He cut off as soon as the thought hit him.

"The Seven Deadly Slytherins," Draco said from behind, and Harry whipped around to face him. The paler boy's gaze slid away from Harry's. "Getting your girlfriend down there was one of the earliest plans they made."

Harry was instantly in Draco's face, his voice harsh with panic. _"_Down_ there?_ Why?"

"To bring back some bad memories. To make you so angry that you might be an easy target, the bonus, of course, being that it doesn't show up on any maps." Draco gave him a small smile. "I thought I had persuaded them that the idea was ludicrous, but well, with only Millicent left . . ." he gestured vaguely.

"They can't get down there," Harry ground out, his fists clenched.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm the only parseltongue left now that your mum is dead." Again, Harry saw Narcissa in his mind, partially changed to her snake Animagus, dead—a suicide from her own venomous fangs. He turned to Ron and Hermione. "I should have thought of them using the Chamber earlier."

"Of course," Hermione said. "The Chamber wouldn't have shown up on the Marauder's Map. She and Wormtail could have been hiding there all along."

Harry flicked his gaze back to Draco as a smile spread across the Slytherin's face.

"So they won't be able to get to the Chamber now. The dungeons, then. They'll take her to the dungeons."

Rage enflamed Harry. He pushed away from Hermione and Ron and leapt for the newly-opened tunnel. With lit wand in hand, he took the stairs two at a time. Footsteps pounded behind him—Ron, and it sounded like Hermione and Draco fighting as they ran.

Harry heaved up a whole flight of stairs before coming to a dead stop.

Ron, stopping beside him, breathed out, "If Ginny needs us in the dungeons, then why the bloody hell is this going _up?"_

Harry, who had just thought the same thing, didn't bother to answer, but took off down the way they came. If Hogwarts wasn't going to take him there, then he'd go another way. He thrust through Hermione and Draco on the stairs.

"And where do you think you're going?" Draco asked in a bored voice.

Harry ignored him, then cried out as the light from up ahead suddenly winked out.

"NO!" Harry charged forward until he reached the newly-made dead end. Backing up, he spun a red jet of light to bounce off the wall fruitlessly.

"_Oi!"_ Ron yelped from behind. "That nearly got me."

Harry, glaring at the formidable stone wall ahead, bellowed his fury.

"Harry," Hermione began, "don't fight him. You're just wasting time."

Feeling suddenly light-headed, Harry sucked in a calming breath, turned and started to climb the stairs again. He pushed by Ron, who was watching him warily. "We'll find her," Harry muttered, "as soon as the damn school lets us."

He could heard Draco's footsteps from up ahead. The Slytherin hadn't even tried to go back down. As Harry neared the top, he tried to ignore Draco's direct gaze.

"Are you done with your little temper tan—"

He cut off as Harry's wand whipped around, aimed at his throat. Draco swallowed. "Obviously not."

Harry was seething. "Do you remember what they did to Tobias when they had him down there—just to make me angry? And now they have _Ginny?_ I feel like someone is ripping me apart." Harry had to catch a breath before he could continue. "Is there _anyone_ you care about enough to understand that?"

Draco had opened his mouth to speak, but froze in that position a long moment. His eyes were, for once, guileless and vaguely lost. "I don't know," he said, pausing, "there used to be." Harry felt a pale twinge of grief that disappeared into the maelstorm of churning emotion inside him. He lowered his wand and Draco fell back against the wall, muttering to himself. "I suppose we'll soon see."

Harry didn't answer, but continued climbing the stairs. Ron caught him up and flashed a wan smile.

"You know, mate, there's no need to hold back. I mean, if you've got the ferret up against the wall like that, you might as well make it worth the trouble."

"We're headed for the Gryffindor Common Room," Harry said brusquely. "There's no telling what we'll find."

"Check the map," Ron said abruptly. "Can't hurt."

Harry stared at the map, the tremble in his hand becoming more and more pronounced. Neville was alone in the Common Room and his name, written in elegant black script, was . . . fading.

"We're too late," Hermione said in a tearful voice as she stumbled into the empty Common Room. "This is . . ."

"There," Ron said hoarsely, pointing with a shaky hand. "McGonagall."

They were there in seconds, at the foot of the stairs where their Head of House lay sprawled—her face pale and dark, her blue eyes open but empty. Dried blood streamed from her nose and slightly open mouth.

Harry knelt, checking her pulse, more from stubbornness than hope. There was no pulse. _Which explains why she didn't show up on the Marauder's Map. _Harry clenched his jaw, trying to force sudden, breath-stealing fears for Ginny from his mind. _Not dead like this._ _Please._

Beside him, Hermione sobbed until pale, stoic Ron gathered her up in his arms. Harry gazed down at his Head of House and marveled how much smaller, how much more helpless she looked now. Keeping his hand steady by a force of will, Harry reached out and gently closed her eyes. As he did, he thanked her for all that she had been to him—teacher, benefactor, mentor, and protector.

"_Thank you,"_ he breathed.

"Harry," Draco called out quietly behind them, gesturing toward the fireplace. Harry looked over to see a body almost completely obscured by the love seat. Firelight flickered across the pale flesh of an arm.

"_No,"_ Harry whispered, across the room in a flash, bending over Neville's bloody, crumpled body. Grief closed Harry's throat. His friend was lying on his front, cheek pressed against the carpet, eyes glossy, looking straight ahead at another body that had been hidden from their sight by the couch. One of Neville's arms was stretched out, wand clutched in his bloody hand.

"It's Fornier," Ron choked out as he stumbled forward to check the body. "Dead."

"Neville?" Hermione was there, crouching over him, touching his hand lightly. She glanced up at Harry, misery distilled in her eyes. "I should have been here."

"_We,"_ Harry corrected her hoarsely, unable to say more.

"_Harry?"_ came Neville's whisper, just a breath of air.

"Neville?" He bent closer. Neville's eyes had focused and he was blinking slowly.

"_Harry . . . 's that you?"_

"Yes, Neville . . . it's me." Harry choked out; reaching down to help turn Neville over to a more comfortable position, but Hermione clutched his arm so tightly that he stopped. She pointed to Neville's side. Harry stared and a chilling cold washed over him.

Blood was soaking the carpet, difficult to see against its dark pattern, but horribly, unchangeably there—leaking from what must have been a mortal wound on Neville's abdomen. _So much blood . . . _

Ron, who had been moving closer, now froze in his tracks. Harry looked up at his friend and saw through watery eyes that Ron, too had seen the blood.

"_Is he dying, Harry?"_

Harry shook his head, wiped his eyes and bent over to look in Neville's face. "What?"

"_Fornier."_

"Yes—he's dead."

"_I got him,"_ Neville said weakly, his light eyes focusing on Harry for a moment. _"He got me, and then McGonagall, but I . . . I got him."_

Harry tried to take a deep breath. "I'm going to tell everyone what you did—the whole Wizarding World. No one's going to care a whit about me anymore. No, they'll all be talking about Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Took-Out-the-Traitor."

Neville breathed out a short laugh. Harry looked over at Hermione, who, with tears streaming down her face, was gently washing Neville's bloody hand clean with an Aqueous spell and a handkerchief she must have Transfigured from . . . something.

"_You're going to win, Harry,"_ Neville breathed out. _"I know you are."_

Harry nodded, unable to speak.

"_Can I . . . can I . . . have my . . . wa . . .?"_

"_What?"_ Harry leaned down to see that Neville's eyes had gone soft again.

Ron came forward in a panic. "His wand! _Hermione, give him his wand!"_

Hermione scrambled around a moment, then placed it in his still blood-smeared hand. She wrapped her hands around his, holding the wand tight for him. "Here you go, Neville. _Oh my god,"_ she said, looking up at Harry helplessly.

Ron knelt behind her and placed a shaking hand on Neville's head. "'Bye Neville. Never forget you, mate."

Harry sent him an angry glance, which Ron returned with a bleak, pointed look at the Map on the floor beside them. Neville's name had disappeared.

"_Neville?"_ Harry felt his heart clench with such an abrupt, painful spasm that he cried out. Shuddering sobs shook him, and tears rolled down his face, but he made no other sound. Neville was gone. Forcing himself to his feet, holding the Marauder's Map in a death grip, he walked away from where Ron and Hermione sat, desperately comforting each other.

Harry was angry. Where were the rest of the Gryffindors? He swiped at his eyes and searched the map. He could see no students except—Dean and Cho in the Infirmary and . . . Tobias in Dumbledore's office with Zimmy Twitchtie? The two were in no immediate danger, but someone should probably escort them to safety . . . wherever _that _was.

_Forget it, they're safer right where they are,_ Harry thought, looking over at Neville.

Why hadn't Dumbledore sent Harry here _first?_ Couldn't he have saved Neville and McGonagall and _then _fought the House Elves?

"Harry," Draco called from where he knelt by McGonagall. "She's been dead for quite some time. The attack most likely happened while we were locked up in the Room of Requirement." He paused, standing. "There was nothing we could have done."

_Right,_ Harry told himself, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand over his tense neck muscles. _Nothing I could have done here. Move on. Find something I __**can**__ do something about._

It took a few tries to get Harry's pain-wracked brain to accept this way of thinking, being far more used to accepting piles of guilt. As a way of distracting himself, he walked to the windows ahead of him. From this vantage point, it was possible to see the Quidditch Pitch and—

Harry froze. The pitch was a mess, strewn with items left in the wake of what must have been a horrendous scramble to get the students inside safely after the attempts on Harry's life. But that wasn't what held his horrified gaze. Even from this distance, he had begun to feel the telltale chill in the air, the echo of his mother's scream . . .

_Dementors_. Dark, flowing masses of them—hundreds of them, exactly as they attacked at the Weasleys house. But now they were at Hogwarts, massing at the far side of the Quidditch Pitch, floating eerily in swirling circles. As if they were waiting for something, or someone.

And there was no one there to stop them—

_No—Hagrid!_

Hagrid was moving out from the castle, down the path leading to the pitch, waving his pink umbrella and bellowing something unintelligible. The Manticore Dobby had mentioned was nowhere to be found. As far as Harry could see, Hagrid was alone out there with the Dementors.

"_Ron!"_ His friend was by his side in seconds, probably alarmed by the tone in Harry's voice. Draco arrived a moment later, drawing in a loud, gasping breath at the view.

"_Bloody hell . . ."_ Ron whispered. "Why's Hagrid even going out there alone?"

Why weren't the Order members helping? Harry frantically looked over the map and blanched. The entrance to Hogwarts and the Grand Hall was full of Order members and teachers—all were battling the Aurors. Charlie had made good on his promise and was on the second floor leading Lupin and Tonks into the fray.

But no one was helping Hagrid. Did they even know the Dementors were there?

"Let's go!" Harry barked out and ran for the tunnel.

"Hermione, there's no more time for this," Ron was saying gently. "We're needed."

"Where to next?" Draco said in a tight voice that had none of his usual casual air.

"No idea." Harry followed the stairs down, willing them to lead him to Ginny.

"Harry," Ron called down as he caught them up, "I've been adding this up in my head, and it's not looking good. Renegade House Elves, evil Aurors who'd love to see you bite it, a scary scad of Dementors and Draco's dad wandering around arm-in-arm with the one person who's probably hated you most at Hogwarts."

Harry grunted.

"Well," Hermione's voice echoed down the stone corridor, "don't forget Umbridge."

"What?!" Ron stopped as Harry kept going. "Umbridge is here?"

"Ron! Of course not!" Hermione's voice sounded still a bit raw with emotion. "I only meant that I think Umbridge actually hated Harry more than Snape."

Ron heaved a relieved breath.

"Debatable," Draco spoke up as he walked beside Harry. "Dolores Umbridge's hatred paled in comparison to mine, once upon a time." The others grew quiet. Harry shot Draco a quick look. The Slytherin wasn't smiling. "I once looked up to Umbridge for that very reason—and saw her reluctance to cast that Cruciatus Curse on you as an intolerable bit of weakness. Remember that?"

"Course he does," Ron called down in irritation, "you were her stinking lap-ferret. What a bastard you were!"

Draco harrumphed.

Harry considered it a small victory that Ron used the past tense, and that the person who most likely hated him worst at Hogwarts was now fighting with him. That _had_ to help the odds a bit.

"At least Neville took out Fornier. That helps," Ron said quietly. "Good old Neville." The group grew quiet; only the shuffling, scraping sound of footsteps remained.

Abruptly, the tunnel opened up after leading them down what seemed to be about two more floors. Easing around the corner of the exit, Harry saw the empty corridor of the Fourth Floor. Why had they been sent _here?_ Ron moved out of the exit next, wand raised, gaze skipping lightly around the stone walls.

All was completely quiet.

"What are we doing here?" Harry muttered.

"See anything?" Hermione whispered to them.

"No," Harry said agitatedly. "There's no one here. Let's go!" He sprinted off down the hallway, with Ron just behind him. They were not fast enough to escape Draco's commentary. The Slytherin was sticking to a dignified trot just behind Hermione, who was still having trouble with her sore arm.

"Unbelievable," he exclaimed. "There's no one to rescue immediately and instead of being enormously relieved like any normal person, you take off in pursuit of something heroic and death-defying?"

"Draco," Hermione hissed just loudly enough for Harry to hear. "Neville just _died _because we didn't get there soon enough!"

Harry was pleased to hear Draco silenced. "There's a battle going on in the Great Hall and if those Dementors get any closer . . ." he let his sentence dangle, unable to even imagine how much damage that many of the soul-suckers could do. "We've _got _to help. Then we'll try to find Ginny."

Ron cursed and sped up, nearly catching Harry by the time they hit the stairs. He hoped the others could keep up. "So who's down there now?"

Harry tossed the map to Ron. "I see Moody, Charlie, Professor Haverlime, Madame Hooch . . ."

"_No!"_

Harry slammed to a halt in the middle third floor landing and watched in disbelief as the staircase below them continued to swivel up and away from the third floor.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Ron exploded.

Looking around, Harry saw that there was no other option. The stairs under him jerked. And jerked again—then started rolling upwards. Harry, crossing his arms and glowering at the castle, was carried up like a sack of potatoes and deposited up on the fourth floor among his watching friends.

"Fine," Harry bit out. He glared at the walls and bellowed. "I'll take the_ other _stairs! And if they move as well, then I'll jump!"

Harry turned, grabbed the map from Ron and cut left, hitting his full-out stride as soon as he was on the straightaway.

"_Harry!"_ Hermione called after him. "There's no point . . . _come back!"_

"_HARRY!"_ Ron bellowed. "Wait—you—_oh—"_

Harry ignored them. He wasn't being unreasonable. He had to get downstairs to keep more people from getting _killed_ by evil wizards. Why was Castle Dumbledore making it so difficult? The Aurors had them at least four to one. _Why—_

And that was when Harry discovered that House Elves don't show up on the Marauder's Map.

_I should have noticed __**that**__ before._ The thought rang loudly through his mind as he dove under the first jet of red light. Then he was rolling, shooting off defensive spells and working to Sense the next Curses sent his way.

"Harry! You—_oh shhhh—"_ Ron's voice cut off abruptly. Harry spun around to see his friend's tall form go flying backwards and managed to sling a lightning-quick Cushioning Charm his way.

Then Harry vaulted to the other side of the hall, skimmed under two Curses and took stock of his options as he went. There weren't many. Six House Elves were ahead of him, spread out defensively, leering, wearing large, evil grins that brought Kreacher to Harry's mind.

He was stunned—but just for a moment.

Then it was Draco's shouted Reductor Curse coming on the heels of Harry's own spell: "_Serpentsortia Sextus!"_

He had done this spell before—three times. Once against Lucius, in a desperate attempt to stave off death. It had worked. He had beaten Lucius, no matter what the wizard had done to him. Beaten him.

The second time, he'd used it against the Manticore, to get Draco and himself to safety, and the third, in his bid to bring Charlie to safety from Hell Manor during the intense fighting in the torture room. It had been a successful spell there, too. And here, it was no less spectacular.

One elongated shape sprang from his wand, hit the floor and blurred into six hissing serpentine shapes. Arching up to strike at the House Elves, fangs bared, they slid toward the small figures.

Then, Harry found out something else about House Elves, something even more surprising—they don't like snakes. At all.

Horror rooted them to the spot. And kept their hands, raised to send spells, out in trembling helplessness. Then they turned as one, and ran. The snakes, venomous and quite capable of doing them harm, gave chase.

Harry turned back to Ron, who was sprawled back, feebly trying to raise his head. "Oi, mate, what was that spell?"

Harry knelt behind him and lifted him under the shoulders. "Six Snakes Spell."

"Nice upgrade," Draco noted drily, who had, of course, "introduced" Harry to the basic spell years before during their duel.

Ron groaned as they stood, and accepted Hermione's gentle grafting of herself under one of his arms.

"That was pretty powerful, mate. I was trying to get up and that spell knocked me flat again."

Harry stared at Ron anew, noting the way his freckles stood out against his slightly greenish skin. The _Fraterdom Singletus_ was already kicking in? "You mean, I drained magic from you to do it?"

"Yeah. I still feel a little funny," Ron admitted, holding his head.

Draco was looking back and forth between them sharply.

Harry grimaced and stalked off, scruffing one hand through his hair. Let Draco work it out himself. Harry _hated_ that spell. He wanted to expend his _own_ magic, use himself up if he had to, not everyone else!

"Let's go," snapped Harry, striding forward.

"Harry, wait," Hermione called after him, "just STOP!"

He halted and swung around angrily. "What is it?"

"There's a reason you can't get to the first floor," she began, "and—"

"Yeah, the bloody staircases are keeping me up here!"

"No," she said calmly, walking over to him, "the reason is that the castle—the Headmaster doesn't want you down there." She stopped beside him and looked at him with a straight gaze. "I know he's gone—Remus explained it—and there must be a reason he doesn't want you down there. Don't fight it."

Harry glanced over at Draco. "Is that what _you_ think? That I should just lie down and let everyone die?"

Draco smiled thinly. "I think you should save your energy to fight your enemies, not your friends."

Harry stared.

"I think hell just froze over," Ron observed. "Ferret-face just gave you some good advice."

"Here's some more for you, Weasel-nose," Draco drawled, "kiss your girlfriend—she needs it."

Harry looked sharply at Hermione, who stared at Draco before sniffing haughtily.

"I don't _need_ anyone to kiss me," she said, but ruined the effect by trying to cross her arms, which not only hurt but was made impossibly by her sling. _"Ouch."_

Ron walked over quickly and kissed her on the nose. He pulled her in closer, which cued Harry that it was time to go.

"Nice going," Harry threw out at Draco as he passed by going in the other direction, "now they'll be at it for hours."

Behind him, he could hear Hermione giggle softly and tearfully as Ron held and kissed her.

"Believe me," Draco said as he fell in beside Harry, "I'm already wishing I could take the words back. Gryffindor PDAs are among my least favorite types of torture. So," he said more brightly, "you're magically linked—you and the Weasel?"

Harry nodded tersely, stopping at the foot of the fourth floor stairs. Where was he supposed to go if he couldn't go downstairs? Ginny's name was still nowhere to be seen on the map. _Damn. _

"Please tell me that while we've been wasting time here out in the open—target practice for anyone who cares to take a shot at us," Draco pointed out with a casual wave to the open air around the staircase, "you've been developing a fabulous plan that will rid the castle of our enemies, the Dementors and the Manticore, save the students, subdue the House Elves and disembowel my father—twice."

"Er—not yet," Harry muttered, setting himself to studying the map again. Maybe there was something he missed . . .

Draco sighed. "Planning ahead isn't your strong suit."

_There._

Harry felt his gaze lock on the map, at a name that had just appeared on the Ground Floor beside the name of Millicent Bulstrode.

"_Ginny,"_ Harry whispered. "No!"

Moving steadily, inexorably toward "_Weasley, Ginny"_ were the names _"Malfoy, Lucius"_ and _"Snape, Severus". _

As if in a dream, Harry lifted his handHe cast a nonverbal spell against the gray shield in his mind, knowing it would be stronger and knowing it might be missed by the others.

They were all around him now, but Harry couldn't hear them over the noise in his own head. He couldn't spare them even a glance to try to understand; his gaze was frozen in horror, watching Lucius and Snape draw closer and closer to Ginny in the dungeon.

What was she doing there? Why wasn't she attacking Millicent or running away? Why had her name been hidden until now?

"Harry," Hermione said, so close in his ear that he finally heard. "House Elves. They don't show up on the map. What if they could shield Ginny as well?"

Harry nodded once. That had to be it. So . . . when he got there, he'd be dealing with Snape, Lucius and the House Elves . . .

_Fine. _

Sensing that it was time to go, Harry thrust the map at Hermione, broke past the bodies in his way and sprinted for the railing. As soon as he reached the banister, screams broke out behind him. Harry didn't stop.

He used his momentum to vault over the railing and flew into the air, confounding the traitorous stairs that wouldn't take him to where he needed to go. He aimed his feet and windmilled his hands, trying to get in the right position to—

—drop on his approaching Firebolt, which he did with a bonejarring thud. Even with the extra strong Cushioning Charm, it stole his breath. And curiously enough, the screams weren't stopping . . .

"_No! Ron, NO!"_

Instantly, Harry whipped around and dove. He caught a glimpse of Hermione frozen in horror and Draco holding out his hand, yelling that he knew what Harry was doing. Ron wasn't there—he was a maroon and gold blur plummeting like a stone, arms stretched out toward Harry.

"_Harry!"_ Hermione screamed.

Ron was nearly to the ground now, but Harry was already there, scooping up under him, accepting the weight as it dropped on him like a baby grand piano, then rolled off and hit the broom. At least Ron knew to hold on tight.

"_Get up,"_ Harry yelled. He could feel Ron maneuvering his weight on the broom. Harry scrunched forward, alternating between anger and fear. Finally, Ron settled behind him and grasped onto Harry.

"Thanks," he said breathlessly. "But next time you try to leave me like that, I'm killing you myself."

Harry had to smile. Until he saw the Curses coming at them from below.

"Hold on," he said, rolling right to avoid the green jets of light. Ron's fingers dug into Harry's arm with bruising force. Two Aurors had appeared down at the entrance to the stairwell.

"_Harry! Get out of here_!" Charlie yelled up to them as he flung curses at the Aurors, which they easily blocked. "Damn it! _Hermione—"_

_What?_ Harry did a one-eighty and zipped up to the second floor. There was Draco flying after them, Hermione perched behind him on the broom, face buried in Draco's back.

Ron, also looking back, increased his grip on Harry, muttering a curse. Harry shouted it. He didn't want everyone following him! He didn't want everyone in danger.

"I'm going to rescue Ginny," he yelled to all of them as they left the stairwell behind. "Lucius and Snape are there!"

Draco pulled up beside him. "Yes! We know that! We've got the map!" He grabbed it from Hermione and waved it. "What were you going to do without that? And without your bodyguard, you imbecile?"

Harry looked straight ahead and sped up. He was heading to the West stairwell, then hooking it down to the dungeon. Ignoring Draco's continued attempts to berate him, Harry went even faster and found the next stairwell. He hooked down, swerved around the banister and kept going down—to the Dungeon.

"Shouldn't you slow down and, you know, strategize or something," Ron said in his ear.

"They have Ginny," he said by way of response, but did slow down. It was darker here. The shadows lengthened. Ron grabbed the broom around Harry and yanked it to a grinding stop. He jumped off, but held the broom tight as he looked up at Harry. Something in the intensity of his gaze helped Harry focus.

"We have to think this through, Harry. House Elves, Bulstrode, Lucius and Snape all guarding Ginny, and waiting for you to show up?" He shook his head. "You need a plan."

Harry forced himself to dismount. Something in him still wanted to kamikaze all the way to the dungeon and attack.

"At least Disillusion yourself and—maybe your broom, too. And I can be a decoy," Ron offered.

Harry had to admit the plan had merit.

Draco almost shot past them, but pulled back hard on his broom to stop breathlessly on the stairs. Hermione gratefully flopped off into Ron's arms and gave him an enormous hug. "You almost died, you enormous _ox!_ What would I have done?" Then she pulled away and glared at Harry. "You almost made him die to protect you!"

Harry took a deep breath. "If you want to stay with me, stop lecturing—both of you." He included Draco in his glance. "I'm going to do what I have to do to get Ginny out of there." Harry hit his head with his wand and disappeared.

"You _idiot!"_ Draco shouted. "This isn't the time to defy everyone and risk everything! That comes later! _Now_ you've got help—you've got us."

Harry shifted on his feet restlessly. "Fine. Get Disillusioned. We'll take them on together."

In under a minute, they were Disillusioned and setting out again. This time, Harry and Draco on Disillusioned brooms, Ron and Hermione on foot. They had studied the map. No one had moved. Ginny was being held in the same exact room that Tobias had been held in—a safe room down the hall from the Slytherin Common Room.

There would be no advantage of surprise. They were waiting on Harry. However, they wouldn't expect Draco or Hermione to be accompanying him.

Slowly, Harry and Draco flew down the long, dark stairwell. Ron and Hermione had fallen back, trying to walk silently. Harry was Sensing forward as far as he could, and felt a stirring on the next landing.

He slowed and bumped gently against Draco, who stopped.

There were House Elves ahead, but they weren't guarding or even paying attention. From what Harry could tell, they were . . . asleep?

"_House Elves—"_

"_I know,"_ Draco interrupted quietly. _"Asleep."_

Harry stared at the spot he knew Draco to be hovering in. _"How did you—"_

"Oh," Draco said carelessly. "Did I not tell you that I can read your mind? Ever since you used Legilimency on me back in the Prefects bathroom, it's been sort of a buzz in my head. It was only recently I discovered what it was."

"And this buzz was me?"

"Exactly."

"How long?"

"Recently."

"How _long?"_ Harry asked again, pressing his broom closer.

"Oh, all right," Draco said crossly. "I figured it out upstairs in the Gryffindor Common Room when all these nonsensically morose thoughts kept flooding me about Neville Longbottom of all people."

"You're saying you can . . ." _read my mind?_ Harry finished in his thoughts.

Draco sighed. "Yes. I simply thought you should know. It might come in handy at some point."

_I don't think I'll tell Ron about this,_ Harry thought in Draco's direction, to test him.

"_Brilliant plan,"_ Draco whispered under his breath.

Harrystared at Draco._ Did it __**have**__ to be you? Damn. Let's go._

Draco and Harry eased forward. Harry admitted to himself it _was_ helpful to have someone able to follow his thoughts. But Legilimensing someone hadn't made him connected to someone before. Although, come to think of it, he'd only done it to Snape slightly, once. And what he'd done to Draco was force himself into his mind while the boy tried to remain open to it, and he'd seen much, much more than he'd wanted. _Lucius is such a bastard_. Harry shook his head and tried to focus. Ahead, the shadows did their best to hide the two House Elves there, snoring lightly side by side.

_A trick?_

"_No,"_ whispered Draco. _"Someone did this to help you."_

Who, Harry had no idea. They flew on and ever lower until they reached the cross section of hallways that marked the lowest level of the dungeons. To their right sat the door blocking them from Ginny.

"_Any ideas?" Draco whispered._

_Yeah. Ron opens the door and stands back. You and I blow in and Hermione covers us from the doorway._

"Not bad," Draco said, "but I go first." He wheeled around and, from the sound, rammed right into Ron who let out a soft grunt. Harry could Sense the slight tussle between them as Ron sought to land a good punch in return.

"_Stop it!"_ Hermione whispered.

Harry quickly related the plan and in under a minute, they were all positioned. As he gave the slight tap on the wall that was to be the signal, he half-expected the door to stick fast. After all, Dumbledore hadn't seemed to want him down here. But Ron easily swung the door open and Harry felt a breeze as Draco flew inside.

He followed, hearing none of the explosions, Curses or shouts that he had expected. Once inside the door, he saw why. Ginny lay crumpled on the floor, unconscious. She was alone.

The map was . . . wrong? _Damn House Elves_. Harry Sensed no one in the room and flew to Ginny's side.

"Harry," Hermione hissed from the open doorway, "it's got to be a trap! Get her and get out!"

Harry only half-heard her. He was kneeling by Ginny, watching her tremble, seeing the blood on her bottom lip. She'd bitten through the skin. _The Cruciatus._ The room went dark around him. They'd used _Crucio _on Ginny . . .

"Potter. She's all right. The damage is fixable. Now get on your broom—"

"They used _Crucio_ on her . . ." Harry mumbled in return, touching the long, red braid that was her standard for Quidditch, moving it away from her pale face. "Her skin is so cold." He was trembling as much as she. He had to stop, to rest his hands on the floor and take deep breaths. Screwing his eyes shut, he tried to contain his growing rage.

"Bloody hell," Draco muttered. "Get over here, Weasel. Calm him down. Granger, get Ginny—I don't think he'll let me touch her."

Harry was shaking. Ron was beside him, silent.

"Weasley!" Draco barked out, then huffed out a breath. "Fine! You get the girl. Granger, you calm him down, or I'm warning you, he's going to blow."

Red. The world was red inside Harry's mind. He tried pulling up his shield, only to find it had bled crimson. The color of death, the color of revenge. Lucius had done this to Ginny—he knew it.

In fact, he wasn't even surprised when the wizard's voice cut into the room like a blade through parchment.

"Ah . . . we're all here."

Then the door slammed shut.


	29. The One, part I

Chapter 27: _The One, part I_

Harry hadn't realized it before—that it was possible to be completely enraged and yet completely focused at the same time. Hot flares of fury were searing him inside, but he listened almost passively to Lucius Malfoy's voice as it taunted from outside the room. _It's not his time yet,_ a voice inside him said, _but it will be soon. _

Right now, there was nothing for him to do but wait. Draco was even replying for him.

"Father. I'm impressed by your use of House Elves' magic. You've come so far." The boy's voice dripped disdain. "At one time, I believe you would have cut off both testicles rather than resort to stooping so low. But then, you are a Malfoy."

A cold laugh was his response. "And you are not—you pusillanimous, pitiable traitor. I shall enjoy exacting my revenge upon your pain-wracked, slowly-dying flesh at length."

"Likewise," returned Draco with chilling malice, "you sadistic, power-hungry miscreant. It is notable that you chose to stay on the _outside_ of the room, safely tucked away from any fair dueling."

"It is _you_ who are safely tucked away. And you who are to be plucked from this room one by one like so many overripe melons and your innards stretched across these stones. Unless . . . Potter gives himself up."

Harry's eyes shot open and his insides chilled instantly. He reached down and pulled Ginny into his arms, hugging her tightly and rocking with her.

"Over my dead body," Ron yelled back.

"Yes, and on top of it, too," Lucius returned. "Potter, you have three minutes before we commence the killing."

Ron turned away from the door. "All right, here's what we do . . ."

Harry pulled away from Ginny slightly and was heartened to see her eyes open, though she still trembled against him.

"Harry," she began and he immediately tuned Ron out.

"Shhhh. It's all right. I'm here."

"Violet."

"What?"

Ginny's eyes bled tears. "Violet Hooch. She was under the Imperius—Bulstrode said Zabini put her under it."

Hermione was beside them now, her hand gently on Ginny's arm. "But Zabini was kicked out."

Ginny nodded. "She was already under it. They used her to get me aside during the Bazaar. Then again, when she was sent home, he got to her again. She came back under his spell and tampered with the Bludgers."

"Poor Violet."

Harry shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said, closing her eyes and shivering into him. "But I don't think I can handle Lucius . . . anymore."

"Don't worry," he said through a clenched jaw, pulling her tighter. "I can handle him."

"No one heard a word I said," Ron groused loudly. "This is not the time for it, Harry!"

_As if I'll get another chance._ Harry glared at him.

"As if he'll get another chance!" Draco hissed at him.

Ron looked at Draco, shocked, then back at Harry, who was still glaring at him. Ron's face slowly cleared and he stepped back. "Oh. Right."

Harry looked over at Hermione, who nodded, gave Ginny a quick kiss on the cheek and then headed over to Ron. _"Let's give them a minute,"_ she whispered.

Draco gave Harry a long-suffering look before turning his back, morose at the onset of more Gryffindor intimacy.

Harry hesitated, then met Ginny's eyes. "I wasn't sure I'd get a chance to see you again," he whispered. "There's something I have to say."

Ginny stirred in his arms, her brown eyes suddenly alive and full of tears. She sat up, still leaning against his chest. "Me, too. You go first."

Harry nodded, then had to look away. The words were fleeing from him at an alarming rate. _No._ He closed his eyes, dug in and opened his mouth. "When we first got together—it was like magic." He stopped, opened his eyes and smiled, flushing. "I mean, magic the way it seemed to me when I first saw it, coming from the Muggle World—er, like it was everything I ever wanted but didn't know that I did. Does that make sense?" He looked up to see her face transformed—happy despite her gray pallor and the blood on her bottom lip. He reached up and gently wiped at the red smear with his thumb. It wouldn't come off and she winced, so he smoothed that rough touch with a gentle, lingering kiss.

Ginny sobbed a bit as he pulled away, then caught hold of herself. "Of course it makes sense."

Harry continued to caress her cheek, losing himself in it, knowing it had to be the last time he would ever feel it. "You made me feel . . . normal and wanted and . . . loved. Like I never had before." Ginny turned her head to kiss his hand.

Draco groaned softly over to the side, and Harry made a Herculean effort to ignore him. Ron, however, thumped him on the head. _"Prat."_

Harry let his hand fall to her long braid falling down over her shoulder, catching it gently in his hand. Ginny, no longer content to let him have his way, reached up to touch his face, to run her fingers intimately over his features as he had never done before—almost as if she were memorizing him.

Harry caught her hands in his and pulled them off his face, closing his eyes to focus. "But I had a problem." Deep breath. "When Lucius had me . . ."

In a few, quiet, halting sentences, Harry confessed to her the painful truth of his captivity and how it had confused his physical feelings for her—how any intimate touch had reminded him and haunted him and nauseated him.

"I knew it confused you and I didn't—" he finally looked up at her and spoke plainly. "I didn't want you to ever, ever think it was you. Truth is, I couldn't have gotten past that if it weren't for you." He smiled at her. "It . . . gives me courage, knowing that you . . . love me."

"I do."

Harry nodded. "I don't know what's going to happen after this. But no matter what, hold on to this—to what we have. It will make you strong."

Ginny, weeping, reached up to pull him into an embrace. "It always has. Loving you has always made me stronger."

Shaken by her words, by the memory that she had loved him long before he had ever understood his love for her, Harry closed his eyes and remembered. He remembered the small red-headed girl running alongside the train, waving to her brothers, crying because she was too small and was going to be left alone. He remembered her bright brown eyes and the silence that had plagued her for years whenever she saw him. He could hear the steel in her voice in later years as she steered him straight time after time, not commanding like Hermione or cajoling like Ron, but with a firmness that always surprised him. She was strong.

"There," she said, pulling away from him and wiping at her eyes. "I'm going to make you three promises: One, I'm not going to leave your side again. Two, I'm not going to get caught again, so stop worrying about it. If we get separated, don't worry. The next time you see me, _I'll_ be coming to rescue _you_. And three, no more singing Valentines."

"Good," Harry said as he gently took her hands in his. "I don't really like singing Valentines."

Ginny gave him a watery smile. Harry squeezed her hands and smiled back. The moment wasn't going to hold, and Harry knew it. But he was drawing strength from her, and saw the same change in her face as she took in a deep, settling breath.

"Okay," she whispered. "Now, I'm ready."

"Time's up, _mes enfants,"_ Lucius called moments later. "Call upon your gods and weep."

"No—wait," Harry called, disentangling himself from Ginny. "I'm coming out."

"_What?"_ came several voices from around him.

"Harry—no!" Ginny said, trying to push herself to her feet.

"I need to do this." Harry strode forward until Draco stood in his way.

"He's not alone." Draco waved the Marauder's Map at him. "Snape is there as well. And god knows how many House Elves."

Torn, Harry shifted from foot to foot.

"If you try to walk out that door, I will Petrify you!" Ginny called out from behind him.

"Brilliant idea," Draco spat at her over Harry's shoulder. "Then the Savior of the Wizarding World will be an unmoving target."

Harry drilled him with his eyes. _Don't talk to her like that._

Draco nodded. "Yes. Fine. But there will be no hex—"

Harry shoved him out of the way and faced the door. "Then, we're going to blow through it—all at once," he said in a low voice. "Take out some of them and widen the fighting area. Otherwise they'd pick us off one by one as we came out the door."

"Yeah," Ron said, "that's what I just said." Draco made a rude noise. "Well, 'cept the part about blowing open the wall. I didn' think we could do tha'."

"We can," Harry stated, then looked around at everyone. "Ginny, stay back."

She started getting up immediately and Hermione bent to help. "Like hell I will. You should know me better than that." She gave him a wan smile.

"Don't weaken yourself further," he begged. "I know how strong you are. Just let us do the Spell, okay?"

"Fine," she assented, but with her trademark disgruntled look.

Just then, a House Elf appeared in the corner, cowering as Harry spun to shoot a Curse at her. "No, Mister Harry Potter, sir," she whispered. "It is Winky, sir. Are you remembering me?"

Harry stopped his Curse just in time. "Winky? What are you doing here?"

"Winky is outside with the bad House Elves, but I is not going to help them. All House Elves is not bad."

"I know, Winky. What can you do?"

"Is Harry Potter going to blow down the wall?"

Everyone exchanged glances. "Did you overhear that?"

She nodded and sniffed. "All the House Elves did. House Elves is having good hearing."

Harry sighed. "So much for the element of surprise."

Winky blinked her big, watery eyes. "When Mister Harry Potter gives the count, the good Elves will attack the bad. Maybe that is being a help."

Harry smiled slowly. "That is being a _big_ help."

Winky smiled in return and popped out.

"Everyone ready?" He looked around at the others and then froze—gaze jetting to the walls. "What am I—I'm such an idiot."

"Of course," Draco said instantly, staring at Harry. "But why hasn't he done it yet?"

"Done wha'?" Ron asked, looking from one to the other, his face growing darker by the second.

"Oh," Hermione said loudly, "I see. But I don't know why either."

"Why _what?"_ Ginny said sharply.

Harry walked over to Ginny, stowed his wand, and scooped her up in his arms. "Don't worry," he said as she buried her face in his neck, "the Headmaster will get us out of this." He strode over to the back wall and faced the blank stone expectantly.

"But Snape said the Headmaster was dead," Ginny said in a small voice.

"Ohhhhhhh," Ron said finally. "Now I get it. Yeah, why hasn't he open-sesame'd yet?"

"He's no longer alive in himself," Harry murmured to Ginny. "He's given his magic over to the castle, and it's been helping us. Just watch." One by one, everyone got behind Harry, who was waiting by the back wall of the room. Three seconds went by, then four, and then—the wall split open before them.

Ginny gasped and grasped Harry tighter. "It's all right," he told her. "We've been doing this all afternoon." Harry took a deep breath and started inside. Ginny was almost a dead weight in his arms, but it felt good to carry her. He knew she had to be hurting. And Lucius—

Harry swallowed and shook his head. There was nothing he could do now. He _had_ to get everyone to safety.

"It helps to have friends in high places, eh, Potter?" Draco called back.

Ron and Hermione were walking ahead, debating whether it was time for her to drink her potion from Madame Pomfrey. "She said every three hours, Ron," Hermione chided. "It can't have been that long."

"Think of all we've done since then. It has to be at least two."

"What _have_ you been doing?" Ginny asked Harry.

Harry hesitated to tell her about Neville and McGonagall, but in the end, he felt he must. As they walked up the long staircase, hearing the echoes of the others around them, he skimmed over the events. He made sure to tell her that Fred and George had rescued her father, and that Charlie had been up and fighting the last time he saw him. Ginny took in the overwhelming information as stoically as she could.

"Hate to be a bother, Potter," Draco said as they neared him on the stairs, "but has the wall down there closed off yet?"

Harry leaned slightly against the wall to anchor himself and looked below. It had been a straight climb up, so it was easy to tell the wall was open. "No."

Draco met his gaze lazily. "Don't you think that's odd? Shouldn't he want to keep my father and Snape blocked from following?"

"Let me down," Ginny insisted. "I can walk."

Still puzzling over the open wall below, Harry let her slide to the step above him. "Careful now," he told her, keeping a hand around her waist.

"Oh!" Hermione's voice came down, and light flowed down the steps. "It's opened up here."

"Careful," Harry called up. "Ron, check it out."

"Be righ' back." Ron's dark form appeared, outlined by the light pouring in the doorway, and then vanished.

Beside him, Harry could sense Draco staring down at the open wall beneath them. No one had yet appeared there. Were the House Elves still waiting for Harry's count or had they already attacked without him?

"'s all right, Harry," Ron appeared through the lit wall one more time. "It's brought us back to the third floor—everything's quiet."

"Everyone up—quickly," Harry instructed and there was an instant flurry of motion. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were swallowed by the light before being followed by a reluctant Draco. Harry paused to look back down. The wall below was still open, but no one was in sight.

"_**Harry!**__"_

Harry jerked his head up to see the wall slide shut with a _snick_. His friends were on the other side.

"No!" He slammed his hand against the stone. On the other side, he heard faint voices yelling his name. _"Ginny!"_

And then, the stairs gave a jerk. Harry turned to look at the long stairs beneath him, stretching three floors down. "Do you want me back down there? Are you _insane?"_ he yelled, his voice echoing around in the tunnel.

The stairs gave another jerk and then—disappeared. Harry windmilled wildly as his feet slid out from under him, and his back hit the stone hard. Stunned momentarily, he felt his body gain momentum and begin to slide faster. Why was this happening? With only seconds to go until he was deposited back into the room below, Harry pulled himself together and readied his wand. _Focus!_ He told himself, trying to quell the rising panic. _Dumbledore wants you there. Be there._

It almost worked. Then the light broke over his face and he was dumped into the room, nearly at the feet of Lucius Malfoy.

"Well, Happy Christmas to me," he said smugly. _"Crucio!"_

But Harry was already in motion, rolling fast enough to stay ahead of Lucius' curse.

"Stay still, damn you," Lucius said, tension beginning to work its way into his calm, icy voice.

It was a small room and Harry was already at the end of it. So he turned, and used the momentum he'd gained to run three steps up the wall. His Senses engaged, it was easy to spin out an _Impedimenta_ mid-flip—one that took Lucius by surprise.

The older wizard still managed to get up a Shield, but it was so weak that the impact knocked him back into the wall.

Harry spun around and hit himself with a Disillusionment Charm. As Lucius clambered painfully to his feet (one leg did seem to be injured from earlier), Harry used the time to quietly move aside, his wand trained on Lucius.

Lucius' gaze darted around the room, his eyes going wild. Harry breathed soundlessly and watched Draco's father slowly fall apart.

"Are you afraid, Boy-Who-Has-No-One-Left-To-Love-Him?" Lucius screamed, his wand's aim skipping around the room with no rhyme or reason. "You can't even _face_ me, can you? Is the memory of what I did you the last time I met simply too shameful?" He flung a Reductor Curse to the wall, blowing a small hole in it. Harry, now on the other side of the room, smirked. Lucius' words had no hold over him now.

And, there was the little matter of revenge to think of . . . right after he ducked this Bludgeoning Curse—

Harry threw himself to the left, wand out, erecting the gray screen in his mind. **_Contra producto produxi productum, _**Harry cast with focused thought—a favoritespell of Fred's and George's from the old days, used especially for when Percy was sitting on the toilet—and before Harry had even landed, the room was beginning to darken.

Lucius turned toward the noise as Harry collided with the floor, all his weight on his left hip, left elbow and left foot. He slid a few feet and Lucius lit up the space behind him. But the room was nearly dark now, and all Harry had to do to disappear was to be silent.

Which was more difficult than it should be now that his elbow and hip were on fire from contact with the stone floor. Harry breathed through clenched teeth as quietly as possible while moving to his feet.

Lucius had also gone quiet. He wasn't going to risk lighting his wand and announcing to Harry where he was. So. Now Lucius would be fighting an invisible opponent in a dark room.

Again, Harry smirked.

_Sonorus,_ he cast against the shield again. _**"Lucius!"**_ His voice was shockingly loud in the room, and echoing until it was impossible to tell where he wasThen he whispered, _"Do you know what revenge feels like?"_

Harry heard the slight intake of breath and moved closer on silent feet. Eyes closed, he Sensed Lucius' form and his magical energy. He would know before any spell left his wand.

"I see you learned your lesson well," Lucius said coldly.

"_**I learned NOTHING from you!"**_ Harry yelled, and Sensed Lucius reeling back from the sound.

But the wizard was laughing now. "You learned hate from me, boy, and shame. And when you face the Dark Lord, you will be all the weaker for it!"

"_**I asked you if you knew what revenge feels like,"**_ Harry hissed.

"Oh yes," Lucius spat back. "I remember!"

"_**Then you will know how good this feels,"**_ and Harry lifted his wand. Lucius was running to the left, but Harry merely followed him with the tip of his wand and shot the tar all over him as he ran. It was a new spell, one that acted exactly as the paint they had used in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but heavier . . . and flammable. This one, he had learned from Rodolphus Lestrange back in Hell Manor.

Lucius stumbled, gasped for breath. "No! Potter—" Tar covered him all over.

"_Accio wand. Incarcerous."_

Harry reached out to catch Lucius' wand, listening with pleasure to the wizard's mad cry. "SEVERUS!"

Harry whipped around, but he knew there was no one else in the room. No one—

No, wait, there was a figure moving down the hallway. Harry Sensed a wizard with a strong magical core coming near. Harry turned once again to Lucius.

"Do it, boy! Or are you a coward?"

Harry hesitated, then cancelled the Darkening Charm. The room came into view again, and with it, a broken, tarred, tied-up and frothing Lucius.

"Coward! The Dark Lord will—"

"_Silencio."_

Lucius stopped abruptly.

Harry considered him, considered burning him as he'd intended. He'd hurt so many people; he'd hurt Ginny. But to kill someone this way was so . . .

The door flew open and Severus Snape strode in, his black cape billowing. Harry trained his wand on the wizard, watching him carefully.

Lucius screamed to Snape silently.

Snape considered Lucius, then turned back to Harry. "What are you waiting for?" With a casual wave of his wand, he sent a jet of flame at Lucius and cancelled the Silencing Charm at the same time.

"There," the wizard turned, giving Harry a profile of his hawk-like nose. "I've been waiting to do that for years."

Harry was so shocked that he almost dropped his wand entirely. Lucius was writhing, rolling, wrapped in flames, screeching until his voice grew dry and raspy. Then, Snape waved again and the flames grew whiter and hotter. Lucius was reduced to ash in seconds.

Harry was still staring in abject horror when something hit him hard on the back of his head. His knees buckled and the light around started evaporating. He was falling forward and down . . . so far down . . . but Snape's words followed him into the dark.

"_It's time to go, Harry . . . the Dark Lord awaits."_

When Harry woke up, he was lying on a cold, smooth floor, staring up at floating candles lit with blue flames, feeling the throb of his heartbeat in his skull. The black walls of the room loomed over his head, completely out-of-proportion for the space around him. And there were so many doors—everywhere he looked there were plain, black doors, without handles. It seemed familiar; if only Harry could think around the pounding in his head, maybe he could remember . . .

"I see your head is not as hard as I gave you credit for." came a grating voice from behind him. Harry looked over to see Severus Snape seated, wand out, watching him. "If you would do me the pleasure of—"

"Delivering myself up to you, tied, tarred and Silenced? No, I don't think I will, thanks," Harry interrupted as he struggled to his feet. The dark room spun around him, and the high polish on the black floor made him feel as though a tumble might send him drowning in deep waters. Balancing on his own two feet had never seemed so difficult. "Is the Dark Lord ready for me?"

"Indubitably. It is whether you are ready for him that is the eternal question and one that I have fallen most ill while pondering. Shall we get on with it?"

Harry bit back an angry retort. He couldn't afford to get baited into anything right now, especially since his wand was not in his wrist holster. He had to calm himself, get as much information on where he was and—

"You're at the Ministry of Magic," Snape supplied easily, blue light from the candles flickering on his face. "I've brought you here to show you something that few witches or wizards have ever seen." He was walking toward a door.

One of the twelve, Harry suddenly remembered, that opened into different sections of the Department of Mysteries. Right. Harry shook his head and tried to orient himself. He'd battled Lucius and his Death Eaters here, and lost Sirius to the Veil as well, in the Death Room, which was beside the . . . Time Room? But he had other concerns right now.

"Wait—what's happened to my friends?"

"The last I saw of them, they were fighting off House Elves on their way to reunite with the Order. There they will be dealing with Aurors, Dementors and a nasty Manticore before leaving Hogwarts, if the Dark Lord doesn't decide to scoop them up and use them as bait for you."

Harry clenched his jaw. "Then what in the _bloody hell_ are we doing_ HERE?"_

Snape watched Harry, amused. "This will not be our last stop. We will go on to Hell Manor, Potter, where all the students who were supposedly sent home were Flooed directly—one of Fornier's sneaky little plans. Here, they were collected by Death Eaters, over the bodies of several Ministry workers, naturally, and sent on to Hell Manor."

"And _what_ are we waiting for?" Harry tried to force the squeakiness out of his voice, but the new information had shaken him to the core. Students . . . at Hell Manor? Harry tried to focus on Snape's answer.

"We are here because Albus wished it to be so. I am fulfilling my last duty to a friend."

"Friend? Drop the act, Snape. You were never—"

"Yes, exactly!" Severus took several abrupt steps in his direction, startling Harry. "I _am_ dropping the act . . . Harry."

And tentatively, Snape smiled.

Harry's mind ground to a halt. The Death Eater before him, the professor who had saved his life numerous times only to betray him in the end—hadn't he betrayed him in the end?—was actually . . . smiling. And not the ghastly false smile that had so nauseated the Gryffindors during Potions class, but a small, light smirk that actually reached the man's normally unfathomable eyes.

"But this is the expected outcome of my years of verbal abuse and unrighteous wielding of class power." The wizard's smile grew. "Albus predicted you would not believe me at first, which is why I took the precaution of securing your wand. I know you would derive great joy from taking out your anger and frustration on me, the wizard who assiduously cultivated your hate for the past six years. But this is not the time. Your future lies in that room," Snape gestured to the door he'd approached, "as does your past. You seek what is there, you have sought it your whole life, though you do not know it. There will be no fulfilling of the prophecy without it."

Harry stood silent, staring at the door. He could hear a replay of the words Dumbledore had said to him in his office at the end of his fifth year, words burned in his mind by desperation, pain and latent horror.

"_There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature—perhaps the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there."_ Harry could remember the way the wizard's old blue eyes had burned into his with intensity, sorrow, and a fierce, puzzling belief in Harry's abilities. _"It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities . . . and which Voldemort has not at all."_

_Not at all . . ._

"Harry," Snape said firmly. "The time for secrets is past. _Enter."_

Compelled by something he could not even name, Harry walked forward slowly, aware every second that he could be making the biggest mistake in a lifetime of big mistakes. His steps echoed in the dark room and he continuously tried to blink the brightness of the blue light out of his eyes. Walking into an unknown room, dazzled, wandless, in front of Severus Snape . . . Ron would kill him for this.

But if this was _the_ room, (and truly, it could be another easily, if Snape wished to deceive him), then Harry had to enter.

As Harry passed Snape, he turned on his Senses. Nothing came from beyond the door at all—meaning that either its magic was hidden, or that it was empty of magic entirely. Harry stopped in front of the door and drew in a deep breath. Behind him, nothing stirred. Snape was still watching him. The candles threw strange bluish shadows over him, and once again, Harry doubted the wizard's intentions.

Then he turned, reached out his hand and cracked the black door open—easily.

Harry's Senses went wild. Inside this room was one of the purest sources of Magic he'd ever encountered. It was extremely powerful and wildly intoxicating. Perhaps there was some secret weapon after all.

As Harry opened the door, Snape made a move to follow him. And Harry meant to whip around, ready for any sort of betrayal, but once he saw what was in the room, he froze. His knees buckled. His eyes swam with tears. He only made it five steps before he fell to his knees.

It was a small room with elegant carved wooden walls depicting witches and wizards in various forms of dress. In the few seconds that Harry forced himself to glance around the room, checking for hidden danger, he recognized a few personas he had studied by the glow cast from the center of the room—seemingly, all of Wizarding history was represented in this room and all of it attended to the figure—the one real figure—in the center of the room.

Harry moved closer.

A young woman was lying on a narrow, pillowed pedestal, her long, crimson hair flowing over the side, the soft glow of magic light infusing the air above her with radiant, sparkling mist. As Harry moved ever nearer, hardly aware he was doing so, the features of her face, so familiar already, became more beautifully clear. Her narrow, pale forehead, the dainty, slightly pointed nose and the full, pale pink lips were all features he knew by heart—had memorized from her photo. And even though her eyes were closed, he knew that if they opened—oh! if they but opened—he would be gazing into emerald depths that were the mirror of his own.

Lily Potter. His mother. He stared without moving, without conscious breath, studying every detail of her face and clothing for so long that when Snape appeared on the other side of the pedestal, Harry could not bring himself to even look up.

"Lily Potter, dead at twenty-two years of age." Harry finally jerked his eyes away and stared at his Professor, startled to see a soft look around his eyes. "Dead because she chose to save her son—_you."_ A bitter tone had crept into his soft words, and his eyes cut to Harry before returning back to Lily. "I don't think I've ever forgiven you for that. I've become convinced that she was correct in doing what she did, but still . . . the world is not a better place for losing her."

Harry looked back at his mother, and blinked back another rush of tears. "Why is she—why does she still look so . . ."

"Her act, synonymous with love and self-sacrifice, and responsible for the downfall of the Dark Lord, was seen as the usher in of a new time of peace and prosperity for the Wizarding World. Lily Potter could have easily been named the Savior of the Wizarding World instead of you. But because of the Prophecy, Albus chose to emphasize your future role rather than Lily's past one. But . . . to let such a one as this simply die, after all she had done was an anathema." Snape looked away and paced idly toward the far wall, studying the walls. "A way was found to preserve her and the Ministry agreed. The room was built and here we are."

"What way?"

Snape gestured behind Harry. "The Draught of the Living Death, of course."

Harry turned and saw, tucked away in the corner, a plain, wooden table only large enough for a single item—a silver chalice that hovered an inch over the table and rotated slowly. His eyes widened as they took in the dull, satin finish and the design played on by an infusive glow—flowing scrollwork that hid running wolves and their mates howling at the moon. The stem was incredibly delicate, balanced by a pearl-studded base.

Harry had seen this goblet before. He had been given highest marks in Transfiguration at the beginning of term for it—Transfiguring a turtle into this goblet's likeness.

He turned back to Snape. "I've been here before."

"When you were a baby they brought you here to see your mother one last time."

"I remembered that goblet. I Transfigured—"

"Yes, yes, of course. You nearly gave Minerva a . . ." Snape gave an uncomfortable pause before continuing on, showing that he, too, had heard of her demise. "You startled her by Transfiguring the likeness of this chalice. Albus was pleased to hear that you remembered the visit to your mother, albeit in some sequestered, normally unused section of your brain." Somehow, Snape still managed to make it sound like an insult that the Headmaster was pleased.

"But wait—you have to be _alive_ in order to take the Draught of the Living Death. And my mother was already . . . wasn't she?" His chest constricting with sudden emotion, Harry stepped closer still to Snape. "Wasn't she dead?"

For a long moment, Harry thought Snape wouldn't answer him. The glow from the room cast warmth on one cheek, but the other side of his face lay in shadow. "She wasn't completely dead."

Harry stopped breathing.

"The Dark Lord had cast a spell that night, before entering your home," Snape gave Harry a cursory glance. "He was determined to live forever and had found a way to preserve his soul—the _Animus Abeo._ All he needed to do to complete the spell was cast the Killing Curse, and then his soul would be bound in a chosen object. The object was to be a small, solid gold ring that he wore that night on his person. He was to cast the Killing Curse on you. It was supposed to be the culmination of his attempt to take over the Wizarding World—the death of the one Prophesied to be his undoing. But after killing both James and Lily, and readying the object for the transfer of his soul, the Dark Lord made a mistake." Snape turned toward Harry, his dark eyes glittering. "He tried to kill you while your mother's protection was guarding you. It proved to be his undoing."

"How?" Harry prompted, after Snape paused.

"Your soul was not ripped from your body as he'd intended because your mother's soul was covering it. Instead, his own soul was torn from his body when the curse rebounded. It was in limbo, kept in place by the spell that had prepared it to inhabit the ring but unable to go there because he was not there to direct it. Instead, it was pulled and directed by the strongest magical force present—you." Harry was breathing again, but barely. He swallowed, his throat parched. With every sentence Snape uttered, he felt himself grow closer to doom, to understanding.

"The force of the Dark Lord's own Killing Curse had forged a connection between you, a connection that now channeled his dark soul into your body. But, there being so much light, so much love in your body because of your mother's presence, the Dark Lord's soul could not withstand it. Part of him, the part that was once good, the part that might have been redeemable at one time and still quietly yearned for good things, joined with yours instantly, becoming a part of you, centered around the scar that was the point of the transference of souls. But the part of the Dark Lord that could not abide love, that shrank from everything good, that part ripped itself away and sought out shelter in some other, more inhabitable creature for him."

Unconsciously, Harry had reached up to touch the scar that even now marked him. The connection he felt with Tom—_that_ was because part of his soul was entwined with Harry's own?

"But you said she wasn't completely dead," Harry prompted.

Snape crossed closer to Harry. "Lily knew they would come. She knew the Dark Lord will try to kill you and she was determined to protect you, at all costs. She came to me, insisting that I help her—that I use my knowledge of the Dark Arts to help her forge protection for you." The earnestness in Snape's face made Harry pull back, though his desire to understand made him nearly vibrate with tension.

"Why you?"

Snape spoke quicker now, more easily. "Because she was the only Gryffindor that ever befriended me, the only person who ever saw behind the mask I had carefully cultivated in order to spy on the Dark Lord's recruits. You must understand that even then, _even then,_ Albus was my mentor and already I was being turned into a spy. Already, I was alienating anyone who had ties to the good and was courting those who were slowly being gathered by the Dark Lord.

"Lily always saw through my pretended anger, my vague attempts at alienating her. She knew to come to me when she needed help. And I helped her. I knew which spell the Dark Lord would cast to preserve his own soul. He did not confide in me, but I was able to glean it from his thoughts during one short unguarded moment." Snape smiled briefly. "His ego did not permit him to suspect me then. When Lily asked me to meet her one night, far from Hogwarts' safety, even unknown to James, I could not help but respond. She begged me for protection, and not for herself. No, she never would have lowered herself to do that. But she begged protection for you. I told her that the only way to ensure your safety would be for her to cast the same spell."

Harry stared at the wizard, his mind too sluggish to grasp the full meaning. "The same spell?"

"The _Animus Abeo_. She cast the spell the same spell as the Dark Lord, to preserve her soul, or at least part of it, in you."

Harry took a step back. His eyes had gone watery again, and he seemed to have trouble breathing. "My mother—"

"To save your life," Snape reminded him.

". . . to save my life . . .cast a spell to preserve her soul . . . in me?"

"Yes, and the spell worked, even with our modification. You see, Lily would not use the Killing Curse as the spell required, but she fully expected to die by one. She used the force from the Dark Lord's spell against her to forge her own _Animus Abeo_. When part of the Dark Lord's soul followed hers into your body, it was joined up in the magical binding your mother's soul had already made. As your own magic began to seek to heal the damage, both were sealed up, magically bound to the wound created by the curse, what is now a scar on your forehead."

Harry rocked back on his feet before catching his balance again. "So . . . the Dementors . . ."

"Were always drawn to you because you hold not only one whole soul, but also the parts of two others. That is the source of your strong magical power." Professor Snape looked almost smug at the revelation.

Harry's knees gave out and, again, he knelt in the room. He was a . . . a . . . he didn't even know what to call himself. A Frankensteinian monster. An imposter—a pretender. He wasn't in the least bit strong—his only magical strength lay in the power given him by his mother and by . . . Voldemort himself?

"Potter." Snape paused. "Harry. This room was kept so that you would not just hear the information of the origin of your rebirth, but _understand _it and see how costly it was. You are what you are—who you are—for a purpose. I have spent the better part of my life preparing for your coming, preparing others to accept you, then protecting your life, and preparing you for the hard road and darkness ahead. The weight of the truth _cannot_ end—it _does __**not**__ end_—the necessity, the rightness and the meaning of your existence." Harry heard it all, but his heart felt frozen.

"Look at her," Snape prodded him. "Look at her!"

Harry climbed heavily to his feet and moved himself to stand by his mother. Snape joined him, looking down on her lovely face. Tears slowly leaked down Harry's face.

"The best witch I ever knew died for you. She passed on to you the _best_ parts of herself and gave you _strength_ and _power!_ The best wizard I ever knew has just laid down his life to protect you inside Hogwarts! You may not claim to be the One everyone thinks you are, but you are the product of so many wizards and witches giving to you and making sure that you are ready. Harry." Harry wiped his eyes and looked up at Snape, who had fixed him with a deadly earnest black-eyed gaze. "For six years, I've bullied you and taunted you, knowing that my seeming hatred would pale in comparison with the venom of the Dark Lord you must eventually come to face."

"That was why . . ." Harry seemed incapable of finishing a sentence.

"It was my job. Albus trusted me to do the one thing that he could not—ensure that you were not petted and feted into a self-satisfied stupor. The Dark Lord reinforced that by binding me to an Unbreakable Vow that I was to undermine your training as much as possible. It served both sides that demanded my allegiance."

Harry nodded, too wearied to ask more questions now. The answers were all so strange . . . so much to think through, and there was no time.

"Now, Harry." Harry looked up. "For six years, I've told you and anyone who would listen, repeatedly, of your ineptness, your weakness and your fallibility. Are you ready to prove me wrong?"

The intensity of Snape's gaze and his words had their desired effect. "Yes sir." Harry stared long into his eyes and then finally glanced away. "I assume you have a plan."

"Of course. Listen carefully. The first thing we must do is revisit the Veil."

Harry stared at the crumbling stone archway before him, watching the mysterious, tattered veil moving slowly in a wind he couldn't feel. Whispering voices caressed his ears, the pull of the unknown beckoned. He was still trembling from his talk with Snape. Thoughts were broiling in him constantly, bringing strong feelings to the surface again and again.

"I have a piece of the Dark Lord in me," Harry said, thinking aloud. "And my blood was used to bring him back to human form."

"Correct."

"And if I threw myself into the Veil right now, what would happen?"

"You would die unquestionably and he would be left vulnerable to attack. But we are unsure that anyone else may be victorious against him, Harry. And there would still be Dementors and a Manticore ravaging your friends at Hogwarts and the Dark Lord's followers to deal with after that. It would be . . . more ideal for you to survive the encounter with the Dark Lord, of course."

Harry gave him a look.

"There is a time and a purpose for everything, Harry. You are needed beyond this room at this time. The Veil is a temptation for you, but do not think you are alone in that. My purpose and my road have been infinitely longer and harder than yours."

Harry looked at Snape in surprise, but instinctively felt that what he said was true. If he really had deceived the Dark Lord all along, had been a Death Eater only on Dumbledore's instruction, had watched the deaths of so many and been the recipient of so much pain from denying himself the things he most wanted in life, simply because he had a purpose to protect Harry and stop the Dark Lord's ultimate victory . . . it was almost unthinkable.

Grudgingly, Harry realized that he would not have been able to do it, that his heart and his soul were not cut out for such duplicity, purposeful or not.

With a small smile, Harry nodded. "You're probably right."

"That was remarkably easy," Severus Snape said with another of his unexpected smiles. "I don't think those words _ever_ passed from your father's lips." And there they stood for a long moment, simply smiling at each other.

Then, feeling completely absurd, Harry looked back at the Veil. "So then, we destroy it and the Dementors will dissipate?"

Immediately, the wizard lost his smile and resumed his business-like demeanor. It was nowhere near his usual cold, inhospitable sneer, but it was close enough to make Harry more comfortable. "Precisely. Dementors are wizards and witches who, in their lifetime, were users of the Unforgiveable Curses. Their punishment was to be sent through the Veil, where their souls were ripped from their bodies. But by use of a spell, a horrible spell finally outlawed by the Wizengamot a century ago, their bodies were recalled back through the Veil. Because they are, in effect, deceased, they do not retain physical bodies—no more than a ragged, ravaged, skeletal appearance. Having nothing of their former lives, no memories, no souls of their own, they house a vacuum inside, one that desires nothing so much as to experience joy again, and to ultimately regain their own soul back. Destroy the Veil which imprisons their souls, and they will be free."

Harry swallowed, and looked at the Veil with newfound horror. Someone could have done that to Sirius. "But, I thought Dementors just appeared, bred out of evil and dark magic."

"Ah, yes, they do breed. A perfect example of how Dark Magic can take on a life of its own and grow beyond our control. But still, all of them are all tied to the Veil by the magic that begat the original Dementors. Without that spell, without the Veil that is the basis of that spell, the Dementors would cease to exist."

"Then why hasn't someone done this before?"

Snape scowled. "Use your head, Potter! They were advantageous to the Ministry until recently when the Dark Lord began using them against us. And by that point, Fornier was positioned as Head Auror. No order to destroy the Veil would get by him."

"Okay, fine. How do we destroy it?"

"We must dissolve the Magical link between the Veil and the Land of Souls, then destroy the structure itself."

"Land of Souls?"

"Yes," Snape replied acidly. "The afterlife, Limbo, the Spirit World—whichever you prefer."

"Right. Er . . . how about if you handle the link, and I'll destroy the arch?"

"Nicely decided," Snape turned to the Arch and lifted his wand. "This link was forged in the Dark Ages, when wizards were necromancers and raising people from the dead was a regular practice. It was problematic, though, to have people thought to be dead constantly popping up again, so an archway was built and a permanent link forged in order that it could be controlled by those in power. Eventually, this room was built to house the archway, and to keep it out of the clutches of the populace. It was relegated to Ministry use only." He paused. "The wizard who first used it to create a Dementor was later turned into one. I don't think he will mind us destroying it."

"I would think not," Harry said, shuddering. "How do you destroy the link?"

"Simple. We remove the key from the body buried under the archway." Snape aimed his wand at the floor. "Careful of the stones." Before Harry could ask _whose body _and_ what stones_, there was an immense upheaval in the floor surrounding the archway, as if the stones were boiling and coming to the surface of a great cauldron. With a swirl, Snape directed the stones to ripple away from the arch. Moving in concentric circles toward the walls, they piled up on top of each other, filling in the first few rows in the stadium seating. Harry rode the waves of tremors in the floor and tried not to think about the fact that they were nine floors down in the Ministry if anything were to start falling apart. Snape looked pleased.

The archway now stood alone, its supporting platform dug away. Inside the area where the platform had been was a narrow crypt with a single coffin. Cobwebs draped from the walls of the crypt to the wooden box that was discolored and stained by time.

"Who's in there?" Harry pointed with a jerk of his head.

"The architect's mother," Snape replied as he pocketed his wand and began to climb down into the crypt. "We can only assume she wasn't a very good one."

"You think?" Harry looked around nervously. "Are you sure there aren't any . . . traps or security systems protecting that thing?"

"Albus assured me they would be turned off, that even Fudge himself saw the necessity of it. The Dementors have to be destroyed if we want to defeat Fornier's Aurors, or make it safely to Hell Manor."

"Fornier's dead," Harry said automatically. "Neville killed him."

"Longbottom?" Snape looked surprised at first, then looked more closely at Harry. "How?"

"Fornier made the mistake of not killing Neville first—just injured him. Neville's dead now."

Snape inclined his head, a short show of respect for Harry's grief—and an unexpected one. Then he directed a stern look at Harry. "Ready with your wand." Focusing his attention back on the coffin, Snape waved his wand and lifted the top of the coffin off with a curiously wet thwacking sound. Harry shuddered.

He'd heard of Inferi before and had no desire to meet one of the undead. But he peeked over the edge of the stone circle to see the innards of the coffin, anyway. It was completely full of slimy, green water and the smell that came wafting off of it was heinous.

Harry almost gagged. Professor Snape made no movement, but turned his head slightly.

"It appears that his mother was at least part Veela."

"They like to be buried in water?"

"No. They loathe any moisture in their casket because it quickly deprives them of their beauty. Most are embalmed. This would be an insult of enormous proportions." He swished his wand and emptied the casket of water. Inside, a skeleton was lying, with a curious locket of shining gold around its neck. _"That_ would be the key."

Harry walked around the low, circular wall which remained from the pedestal and leaned back over to get a better look. It looked like a normal locket in every way. But when Snape raised his wand and muttered a soft word, the locket chimed a clear, bright note as if a bell had been struck by a hammer. As the note faded, Harry noticed that Snape seemed to be waiting for a response. Harry waited with him. The air seemed expectant, almost vibrating with tension.

Or wait—it _was_ vibrating. There was a sound, growing louder every second—a vibrating, humming buzz that was coming from the archway itself, sending the black, tattered curtain into a frenzy of spasms. Harry stood and raised his wand to destroy the archway.

"Not yet—the link is still viable!" Snape shouted, holding an arm outstretched to Harry.

Harry eyed the skeleton in the coffin nervously. Snape waved his wand and muttered something indistinct, something that seemed to concentrate the magic in the air. Harry closed his eyes and Sensed the power surrounding the locket and how it stretched to protect the opening of the archway. _Yes_. If the locket were destroyed, then the gateway would be damaged and vulnerable to magical attack.

The vibrating grew higher-pitched and much louder. Harry opened his eyes, pressing one hand against the ache in his ears, while holding his wand hand aloft. Snape had already sliced through the gold chain and was attempting to destroy the locket.

And then the sound grew even higher—like the scream of a teapot on full boil, the shriek of a Fwooper and the scrape of a saw on wood all concentrated into one intensely painful blast. Harry tried to cover his ears more fully, then desperately slung as powerful a Silencing Charm as he could at the locket in Snape's hands.

It worked—but on Snape.

The Professor turned an outraged look on Harry, who hastily undid his spell before succumbing to the sound. Both hands pressed to his ears, he fell to his knees. It was up to Snape. If he couldn't—

But then it stopped. Harry looked up and peered over the edge of the low wall. Snape was pressing one hand to his ear, a look of pain on his face. On the floor lay small bits of gold, nothing more.

"_Do it,"_ Snape said through clenched teeth.

Harry shook his head and stood, raising his wand. The archway before him hadn't changed, but the magic had altered it greatly. Harry Sensed that it was fluctuating, seeking an anchor to hold it in place. It wasn't going to find one.

"_Do it __**now!"**_

Harry erected the shield in his mind, and threw his strongest possible Reductor curse.

But the jet of light hit the stone and spread across its surface like an emerald wash, then disappeared. Harry looked down at Snape, who was giving him a disgusted sneer.

"I guess if I want something done I'd better do it myself."

But Harry felt something stirring in the air . . . "You might want to put a shield."

Snape lifted an eyebrow. "Or what? I might get injured by a—"

And the archway blew up—spitting pulverized rock, rubble and dust into the air. Harry was on the ground instantly, shield up, trying to get the taste of boulder out of his mouth. "Professor Snape?" The concussion had hit Harry rather hard and it was an effort to crawl to the low wall looking down on the crypt.

"Professor Snape?"

"You thought, perhaps, that I could no longer Apparate?" Harry whirled around to see Professor Snape at the top of the steps leading to the dias, smirking at him. "By the way, nice spellwork."

Harry stared for just a moment at the compliment before giving him a wan smile. "Are we really done with the Dementors now?"

"Yes. You might want to move," Snape said conversationally.

"Why?" Harry looked around behind him, but saw nothing stirring. The stone of the archway was gone, but the shape remained behind—a gaping black wound in the air, finally uncovered by its veil.

"The lost souls will be exiting soon to join their Demented bodies."

Harry gave the wizard a look before scrambling to the farther reaches of the room. Then the trembling began again, and a sad, keening sound filled the room again.

The atmosphere in the room darkened. Energy crackled in the air as if a violent thunderstorm approached. Harry lowered himself to the ground, wand up. Snape joined Harry on the floor, and both fixed their eyes on the Veil, to see something that few wizards would ever see.

In the beginning, all was dark within the hole—an inky blackness as solid as the stone arch had been. Then a light began to twinkle, distantly, so far that Harry thought it might be his imagination playing tricks on him. But then another light joined it and another, and the pinpricks became streaks of light with a beginning in the far distance. They were coming this way—and fast.

The voices began again—the whispering that Harry had always heard behind the Veil—growing louder and louder as the streaks of light became brighter. And then, suddenly they were upon them.

Two figures of glowing white exited the darkness first—a short, thin man with a droopy face wearing wispy, old-fashioned robes and a large woman with angry, dark features. They circled once, and their expressions changed. There was freedom in their movements and newfound peace on their faces as they flew out of the walls.

And then there were more—tens more, hundreds more—coming so fast that Harry could only get an impression of the many different kinds of wizards and witches that came through. All of them had been turned into Dementors?

Harry shook his head, then froze. His gaze had caught on a tall, thin man who was continuing to glide around the room when most had moved on. The ghost was looking intently around the room, as if he'd lost something. It was hard to get a look at his face, but Harry was already standing.

"Harry," Snape said beside him. _"Careful."_

As Harry stumbled down the stairs, gaze fixed on the ghost above him, tears jumped into his eyes. Brushing them away impatiently, he tried to confirm what he already felt—yes, yes, it was _him_.

"_Sirius!"_ Harry screamed through a suddenly raw throat. "_I'm here!"_

Turning, the figure slowed and moved toward Harry. Harry's starving eyes watched every expression that flitted across the ghost's face: relief, joy, sadness . . . love. Sirius held out his hands to Harry and a smile grew on his face.

Harry's eyes filled and he couldn't help but hold his hands up toward him, just a little. "I'll be there, soon, Sirius. Tell Mum and Dad." Sirius was shaking his head with an expression of grief. He flew closer to Harry, bringing an intense flow of colder air with him. "It's been a very long year, Sirius—I didn't think I'd make it. Now, I have just a few more battles to fight and then I can be with you."

Again, Sirius looked grieved. He put out his hand and touched Harry lightly on the head, or at least tried to. His mouth worked to form words. "H—Harry. You can fight harder than that." He smiled. "If you are t—truly your mother's son—you _will_ fight harder than that."

Harry bowed his head and nodded. "I miss you," he whispered.

"And I, you," Sirius whispered back, so quietly that Harry almost didn't hear it. When he looked up again, Sirius' ghost was gone. The room was quiet, save the whispering of the last two ghosts enjoying their newfound freedom.

The Veil was destroyed. The Dementors unable to harm anyone ever again. And Sirius was gone—again.

Harry, feeling the familiar painful squeeze begin in his heart, shut his eyes and tried to breathe. Sirius was right. He had to fight harder. His mother would want him to.

Just as Harry was opening his eyes, his Senses flared. An _Incarcerous _spell coming from—

"_What—"_

The split-second hesitation made his desperate dodge too late. Ropes snaked themselves around him from shoulders to ankles, making him teeter precariously.

"_Silencio!"_ Snape hissed, and once again, Harry was so dumbfounded that the curse hit him easily. Snape had deceived him? All of this was a lie? _Why?_ To get his help destroying the Veil? _"Accio wand."_ Harry's wand went winging to him.

Furious, Harry jerked at the ropes and snarled at Snape noiselessly, almost dumping himself on the ground. He _never_ should have trusted him. He _never_ should have—

"_I'm tellin' you, that was __**him."**_

"_Sirius bloody Black's ghost? Then how come I didn't even get so much as a glance? Tell me that."_

Voices coming from outside the room, quiet but growing louder. _Wait—was that—?_

"_Well. You __**do**__ have a tendency to go off scratching your arse at important moments—good luck I was paying attention and saw that __**this**__ is the room they all came from." _

The **twins**?

"_Oh, really? And why in the bloody hell would ghosts be fleeing from the Department of Mysteries? Tell me that."_

"_Probably smelt that ghastly aftershave you've been wearing ever since Paula Pricklesleeve started coming 'round."_

Their footsteps stopped outside the door. _"Perish the thought. Probably smelt Wormtail's b.o. Probably been at least four or five weeks since he's bathed, eh? Come on, then."_

One of the twins—Harry immediately saw that it was Fred—appeared inside the doorway, eyes wide and jumping about the room, taking in the destruction and finally coming to rest on Harry, who by this time, was madly trying to gesture with his head for them to turn around.

"_Harry?_ Bloody—"

George had ducked his head in and, as soon as he saw Fred heading for Harry, whipped his head around to the left and caught sight of Snape. His shield went up just in time to save Fred from being hit by a Reductor Curse. Fred turned and whipped out his own wand, shouting several colorful names for the Professor.

Harry, in an agony of helplessness, watched with sinking heart as Snape just sneered at the twins and easily blocked the first two curses they spun at him.

"Come to join the party, then?" He flicked his wand and a jet of purple light just missed George. "Winners take all?"

"Harry, are you all right?"

Harry nodded at George, and jerked his head to Snape as if to say, _Forget me—watch out for __**him.**_

"I haven't hurt the poor boy, if that's what you're worried about. I admit, I would like to, but that wasn't part of my orders from the Dark Lord," Snape curled his lip as he spoke.

"Orders from the Dark Lord? You _bastard!"_ Fred shouted. "And I always said you were too pathetic for Voldemort to really use, too broken and bitter." He hurled a powerful _Incarcerous_, but Snape blocked it—less easily this time.

"Does that make you angry? Perhaps you should hang around, and see what happens when I turn precious Potter over to the Death Eaters. They've been waiting years for this." He smiled, and Harry saw the merciless, cold devil he'd always hated in Snape.

And yet, something didn't seem quite right in what he was saying.

"You'll have to go through us," George said, moving slowly to join his brother.

"Why don't you just stay right there?" Snape swiped his wand and—nothing happened.

Then suddenly, the stone in front of George grew tall and split in two. The giant arms, for that is what they looked like now, reached around George and clamped around him tightly. Fred gave a cry of alarm and hit the stone with several spells, but nothing worked.

Harry fought to made a noise, _any_ noise, to remind Fred of the danger to himself, but was of no use. And, just as he'd foreseen, Snape simply repeated his spell and enclosed Fred in a like stone embrace. Harry tried to move—couldn't. Tried to focus, to bring up the screen in his mind. Just as he got it up, Snape began speaking.

"Try it, Potter and I'll kill them." Harry met the black eyes with hatred, but gave in. "Thank you. _Accio wands._ There. I have no need to hurt you, spawn of Weasley, and will be more than happy to leave you for the returning Aurors to find—if there are any—once I have a simple piece of information." His voice was silk-wrapped menace, and Harry thought he could happily kill the evil wizard right now if he were free.

From the curses spewing out of both of the twins' mouths, it appeared they agreed with Harry. Then Snape waved his wand and Fred screamed.

"I said I have no need to hurt you, but I will, unless you tell me where you put Wormtail. I am responsible for him, you see." Fred was manfully battling the tremors that racked his body while Snape stepped closer to him.

"Leave him_ alone!"_ George bellowed, kicking uselessly against his stone captor, his arms pinned tightly against his sides.

"Would you like your brother to feel the same pain?" Snape gestured loosely to George.

"I don't care!" George returned. "Let him do it, Fred!"

"Or . . . perhaps you might not care to see our Gryffindor Savior battling the same agony?" Snape's wand strayed to Harry. As Fred hesitated, white-hot pain sliced through Harry's midsection and he couldn't help but fold in his bonds, his face contorted. The pain was brief—in fact, by the time he was on his knees the pain was already gone. Harry looked up in surprise.

"_Bastard!"_ George shouted.

"Wormtail is in the Atrium," Fred ground out with fury in his eyes. "There was no one in the Auror office to process him, so we made a cage for him—a proper cage for a rat!" He smiled grimly. "Not sure what good that information will do you, anyway. Harry will still get away. And then, _you'll_ know what pain feels like."

Snape gave him an oily smile. "Your faith is touching. Hold on to that. The worst is yet to come."

Lazily, he began to swish his wand back and forth, back and forth, muttering words that Harry couldn't hear. He looked at Fred and George with alarm, horrified to see that their eyes were closing.

"No!" He cried out silently. Snape was capable of anything—ANYTHING!

Once the twins had fallen over, slumped in a bewitched sleep, and Harry had rediscovered how impossible it was to free himself, Snape turned to Harry, continuing the same motion.

Harry shook his head.

"Yes," Snape whispered, "you _do_ need to sleep. You have a very long night ahead of you, Harry, and you need to rest. Sleep," his voice fell to a whisper. Harry felt his eyelids closing, but could do nothing to prevent it. His body was shutting down of its own accord, and he was lying on the floor, staring up at Snape when everything went blurry.

His eyes began to close.

"_Ginny,"_ he whispered soundlessly. _"Ginny . . ."_


	30. The One, part II

_Chapter Twenty-Seven: The One, part II_

When next Harry opened his eyes—quickly, as though someone had shouted his name— he was bewildered by what he saw. Above him, a low, rough stone ceiling hung with greenish-glass lamps. Beside him, an elaborate, carved mantle with an anemic fire burning. It looked familiar, but Harry's head was too clouded to understand the meaning of it.

He sat up and shook his head, surprised to find that he was able to move, but unable to remember why that was surprising. Looking around, he saw a huddled figure next to the wall on his right. That figure was wound head to foot in ropes, but was still, as though asleep.

Harry got to his feet and moved toward the figure a few meters before it hit him in a rush. That was Wormtail—tied up and knocked out. _Snape! _Snape must have done it, the bloody, traitorous, evil henchman of Voldemort—Tom.

A section of wall at the end of the Common Room suddenly slid back, and Harry jerked his wrist to free his wand. Professor Snape was striding in the room, black robes billowing behind. Harry's heart sank—his wand was gone.

With a dive, he placed himself behind a collection of high-backed chairs and tried to erect his mental barrier.

"Ah, you are awake—and cognizant, I see. Some wizards are befuddled for hours after a bewitched sleep. Feel more like taking on the Dark Lord now?"

Harry could not reconcile the man's light, almost cheery (well, for him) tone with what had just happened back at the Ministry. He'd attacked Fred and George, tied Harry up and tortured them—

"Are you holding my little performance against me? Harry, surely you understand by now that I walk a razor's edge with the Dark Lord, on either side of which is the abyss of distrust and torture that I once fell into and do _not_ care to repeat." He was walking to the side of the chairs, Harry noted, putting him at a strategic advantage.

"Tom was NOT IN THAT ROOM!" Harry found himself nearly shouting, and tried to pull his rage back. "You cannot excuse yourself this time."

There was an ominous silence, during which Harry closed his eyes and focused on the shield in his mind. If he could just focus enough—

"Perhaps we should revisit our troubled past, before we can move on properly." Snape started walking, Harry Sensed, pacing back and forth from beyond the barrier of chairs. "Do you think that my life began when you walked into Hogwarts? Far from it. I have worked for more years than you have been alive to get the Dark Lord to trust me, and one of the only things that kept the Dark Lord trusting me were the many and varied memories I had of humiliating you, insulting you and hindering your schoolwork any way I could." Harry's eyes popped open. "I have already explained that I was working for both sides, and having been instructed by Albus to be sure you were not spoiled and having been instructed by the Dark Lord to treat you as an anathema whose very being injured my lord, I had no choice."

"But the Dark Lord wasn't even alive when I entered Hogwarts," Harry protested.

"Not true. Shall we define our terms? He was alive, but not in his body—yet. Albus was sure, partly because of the Prophecy, that the Dark Lord would return to power. Therefore, I behaved in a manner consistent with my Death Eater status. And when the Dark Lord was reborn, an event based on your capture, humiliation and torture, he was very, shall we say, interested to see memories of you. I had to edit the memories of Albus, which was painful enough, but I managed to be able to share many of our encounters with him, all of which gave him great joy. I would venture to say that had I not had such an arsenal of memories to share, the Dark Lord would have entertained fatal doubts regarding my loyalty."

Harry licked his lips nervously. To know that Tom had seen all of those memories was . . . humiliating.

"Ah, but you miss the genius of the plan entirely. My memories are saturated in doubt of your abilities and show you in a most incompetent light possible. Therefore, Tom has always underestimated you, and, no doubt, because of his own arrogance, will continue to do so." Harry nodded, breathing a bit easier. "Now that you understand my situation, let me clarify that no—I would not jeopardize the trust of the Dark Lord by trusting the feeble minds of Weasley children to keep my secret—if the Dark Lord gets hold of them, which he undoubtedly will."

"Then, where's my wand?"_ The final test._

"In my pocket. I took your wand to prevent you from lashing out at me. Simple self-preservation, which I know is a foreign concept to you, but one I find most beneficial." He gave a slight smile and produced Harry's wand. Harry gladly walked around the chairs to take it. He stepped back feeling much better.

"Harry." Snape fixed a direct gaze on him. "I am taking you to the Dark Lord tonight, but not to hand you over helplessly. It is time for you to face him, and if you are who the Prophecy states, then you will do the thing you need to do and you will prevail. I was set in place in order to help you all I could once you are there, as I did when you were captured by Lucius Malfoy. There are two plans in place, and I will do all I can to ready you for them. I do not know what I will be able to do for you, but when the opportunity arises, I will do it. You can trust me."

Harry was taken by a sudden flood of memory—to the Shrieking Shack in his third year—when Sirius, wand out, with cold rage burning in his face, was asking for his trust. To be honest, he was taken aback by the sudden earnestness in Snape's voice. But, nonetheless, Harry found himself nodding in assent. "For some reason, I believe you."

Snape again smiled. "I brought you here to rest and recover before we head into the darkness. Do you feel ready now?"

"At least you've warned me that you're taking me to the Dark Lord," Harry offered, giving him a tight smile.

"Because it must be done," and Harry was puzzled to see some amount of regret on his face. "I will not be able to prevent what happens afterward. I'm sure it will be . . . unpleasant. But I do have a plan, one that should enable you to fight him and, if you are strong enough, to win. I have only one request. I have put myself at great risk by exposing my double-life to you. When you are in his presence, do not think of this conversation, or of our visit to see Lily. Focus instead on my performance in the Death Chamber. The anger you naturally feel should make it easy for the Dark Lord to read. He will be pleased, and convinced that I did my job properly."

"Do you think I can do that?"

"Harry. Your use of Occlumency has become almost legendary. The Death Eaters are still talking about how you left Rodolphus Lestrange with a jellied brain. They recognized the result of fatal Legilimency, having seen it often enough from the Dark Lord. Your shield has become quiet formidable as well."

It was Harry's turn to give a slight smile. He glanced around, absurdly imagining the response of his friends if they could see him and Professor Snape bonding in the Slytherin Common Room. Harry's smile faded. "Have you been out there?" Harry said, indicating the rest of Hogwarts with a gesture.

"No," Snape shook his head, walking toward the fireplace and standing to stare at the coals. "There was no time. I merely went to my office to get the items I need for the spells to end the reign of the Dark Lord."

"And my friends?"

"I do not know if the Castle fell, but we can assume that if any of your friends were taken by Aurors, they have by now been moved along with the rest of the captured student body, to Hell Manor."

The room swirled around Harry and he grasped the chair before him like a lifeline. But who? Which ones?

"Then we have to go now. There's no way of knowing what he'll do—" Harry couldn't even finish the sentence.

"Potter!" Snape barked, and Harry looked up, dazed. "Don't go soft on me! You have a job to do. _Focus!"_ Harry took a deep breath and pushed down the horrible fear that had taken hold. "Listen to me. You cannot expect to waltz in there and defeat the Dark Lord easily. He will make it difficult for you to even breathe, let alone come up with a strategy to win. Confront the pain now—that's your only hope. Assume that he has all your friends and he will use their pain to convince you that you cannot win. And for now, and for the time you are there—forget them."

Harry shook his head. _"No."_

"Yes!" Snape stalked closer, until his beady eyes were boring into Harry's from only a meter away. "There is no other way to function but to cut off those emotions or they will pull you under. You must be free to fight. Close down your emotions, Harry. Do it now!"

Hesitantly, Harry closed his eyes. He found that he was trembling. What would the Death Eaters be doing to his friends?

"No! Do not think about them! Think about the task ahead. _Focus, Potter!_ Show me how strong you can be."

_Strong?_ How strong could he be without—

"Shut them down! Now! _Focus!_ Focus on the Dark Lord, on your hatred for him. Let it make you hard. Make you impenetrable. They will hurt you. _Let them," _Snape hissed. "As long as you can perform your final act, it doesn't matter what they do to hurt you—and make no mistake—that is what their focus will be. Say it to yourself: _Pain doesn't matter."_ Harry grimaced. "Not for you, not for your friends. Death Eaters will put Hermione under the Cruciatus. They will cut Ronald Weasley's body to ribbons. Ginny will be screaming the entirety of time you are there. But it is your task to focus. Focus! _The only way to help them_ is to _focus_ and be prepared for the opportunity to strike."

Harry's trembling was more pronounced now, and a tear squeezed out of each eye. He tried to breathe. Slowly, painfully, he pulled up the gray shield in his mind.

"That's it. _Focus_. Nothing matters except the mission to kill the Dark Lord. Now. Are you ready?"

Harry nodded, his jaws clenched tight. He willed himself to breathe.

"I am going to tell you now how to kill the Dark Lord—a plan that Albus and I devised and the final piece of which I have just now retrieved. It will work."

"And if it doesn't?"

"It will."

"_If it DOESN'T?"_

Snape hesitated, and Harry opened his eyes. "Then . . . we go to Plan B."

They were going to Apparate in. Harry was tied, not by an Incarcerous spell, but by a painful, thin wire around his neck. His shirt was off, and Snape had added to the few gashes and bruises already there by dent of a very useful spell that caused contusions without blunt force. He had also made two shallow gashes on Harry's side and instructed Harry to cradle his side as though it were injured.

"Remember, we must always trick him into underestimating you. The simple advantage of an injury will go straight to his head. How tight is the wire?"

"Too tight."

"Good. The less you are faking, the better."

Wormtail, having just been released from his bondage, snuffled up beside Snape. Harry felt his upper lip curl.

"I need to take the boy's wand," he said, ducking his head in a subservient way.

"Harry," Snape directed.

Harry sighed, uncurled his arm from around his midriff, which, despite Snape's assurances, did still hurt a bit. His wand shot out of his wrist holster, and he handed it over grudgingly to Wormtail. Their eyes met.

"A life debt I owe to you," Wormtail whispered, "and I will pay. Oh, I will."

"And why would you do that?"

Wormtail looked up, his face haunted. "A life debt must be paid! I have no choice!" He jerked his head to look at Snape, who seemed completely unmoved.

"Step aside, Wormtail. Paying the life debt is in your best interest, and since it is owed to Potter, then it is in the best interests of the Wizarding World as well. Or, I could go hand you back in at the Ministry."

"No! I'll do it!"

"Fine. Step aside," Snape repeated coldly. Wormtail lurched aside and Snape waved his wand, removing the poison antidote that had been attached to Harry's left bicep. Snape then studied Harry and gave a smirk.

_Uh oh,_ Harry thought. He braced himself.

A hot sizzle once again cut through his flesh, this time on his forehead. Blood at once trickled down into his eyes.

"_Oi,"_ he protested, wiping away as much as he could.

"It's a lightning bolt on your forehead. The Dark Lord will love it, and perhaps find less reason to torture you." Snape walked closer to Harry. "Remember there _is_ a purpose to this. Any cut or bruise I give you will be kinder than his."

Harry nodded. He took a deep breath, stretched out the muscles in his neck, once again clasped his abdomen and bent over, as if in pain. "How's this?" he asked, looking up at Snape through the blood that had dripped into his eyes, stinging him.

"Tears. Good." Snape snapped.

Harry grimaced, trying to focus and keep the rising panic at bay. Minutes ago, before the plan had been fully explained to him, he'd felt focused and calm. But now . . .

Snape turned to him, stared into his eyes and said, "It's time."

Harry swallowed, took a deep breath and nodded.

As soon as they Apparated in, the pain in his scar began. Harry could do little more than stumble after Snape as they walked down the hall, frantically trying to focus enough to erect his mental shield. _Damn_. He should have thought of that already.

Finally, he got it up and the pain stopped. _Better. Much better._

Harry straightened a bit and tried to even his pace with Snape. If the Wizard got too far ahead, the thin wire bound around his neck dug in—far in—and drew blood. So far it wasn't too bad. _So far._

Around them, Wormtail cavorted, whinged and cringed alternately, his ramblings unintelligible to Harry. Not that Harry cared to listen.

As much of his brain that could be allowed to stray away from his dire situation and doomed future did so with awe, taking in the enormous black granite walls, the polished black marble floors and the gold that scrolled, leafed and lined every possible surface, including voluminous amounts of carvings, statues and archways. There were no torches, but an eerie blue glow flowed down from the ceiling, casting pallid light and deep shadow around the three making their way down the hallway.

Looking ahead, Harry could see no end to the hall. He began to despair. Holding himself in this position was exhausting, and the wire cut deeper with each slight movement independent of Snape. Far from being comfortable, it was rather more like the torture it was devised to imitate.

"Quiet," Snape snapped at Wormtail, who immediately sank into a quivering ball of fear, shaking his head desperately.

"Get up!"

"Tell him I helped you catch Potter," Wormtail pleaded. "It's the only way he'll let me live. You know it! _You know it!!!_ Please, please?"

"He already knows the Weasley spawn captured you. Surely, it couldn't have come as a big surprise to Dark Lord that you are inept."

"_No, indeed,"_ came a disembodied voice from the ceiling, _"it wasn't."_ The voice was cold and casual. _"This is only the latest and, I fear, the last in a series of disappointments with Wormtail."_ Wormtail shrieked as though someone had jabbed him with a needle.

Harry stared at Snape, who bowed and spoke to the voice as one might speak to a friend through the telephone. "I am afraid Wormtail is correct, my Lord. He did provide a needed diversion tonight when I had Potter cornered. As you can see, our trap was successful."

The air around them went still. Harry felt a tingle of Magic around him, searching, seeking, tasting him.

"You have brought him here, Severus?" The voice quivered with excitement.

There was a small nudge against the shield in his mind, but it held.

"Yes, my Lord. He is yours to do with as you please," Snape's eyes cut to Harry's one final time, and Harry saw regret where he had once seen only unfathomable black depths. Then he looked away and Harry knew his ordeal was truly beginning. His last friend in this place had now turned his back on him.

"_Focus,"_ Snape hissed, and then the Dark Lord's magic reached out for Harry.

With a violent swipe, Harry was lifted and propelled down the hall on a rushing stream of air. Snape had let go of the cord, but not before it tightened so much that Harry was struggling to breathe. He was also struggling to stay calm, to keep focused. No matter what, he had to keep his shield up.

He was flipped upside-down, then sideways, then slung backwards and forwards until he was completely disoriented. Like a nightmare, the hallway stretched on and on, and Tom played with Harry as a cat would with his prey. Harry closed his eyes. Using his Senses, he reoriented himself. _Pain doesn't matter._

Tom was laughing now, and the whirlwind grew more violent. Harry was thrown against the wall, his head taking the crux of the impact. Groaning, fighting for awareness, he was pulled back to the middle of the hallway, then flung against the other wall. This time, he Sensed the wall in time and flipped around so that his feet and legs took the impact.

And so the game began. Over and over, Harry was thrown from one side the other, and often he was able to save himself from serious injury. A few times, his dizziness overcame his Senses and he hit the wall, scraping a shoulder raw or adding new bruises. Snape should have just saved them the trouble of planting fake injuries on Harry, he was going to arrive with plenty of them, anyway.

After some time, the screaming wind and constant maneuvering started breaking Harry's nerves down. _No!_ He could wrap himself up in the shield, as he'd done once before, but he'd remain inert, defenseless before Tom. _Not a good idea. _

But truly, his body didn't matter at this point, anyway. It was his mind that–

With a sudden gasp, the wind stopped. Harry, stunned and upside-down at the moment, fell heavily to the floor. He lay there, groaning and taking stock of his injuries. Everything hurt, especially his back, where he'd hit the wall a number of times, scraping off skin. He'd twisted his left knee, sprained his left wrist, and . . . _ouch_ . . . broken one finger on his right hand.

And it wasn't over. He wasn't alone.

"Enjoy the ride?" Harry felt a faint buzzing against the shield in his mind, but it held. He looked up to see Tom gloating over him—way over him. Voldemort, the Dark Lord, was perched up on a black granite throne with carved serpents writhing over the sides and back of it, serpents detailed with so much gold that the throne shone.

Tom's red eyes glared at him from above. They were in an enormous room, a cavernous space that swallowed them whole, and yet, they were alone. Harry felt dread blossoming in his stomach. He couldn't take Tom on alone. Snape was wrong about that.

"Ready to die, boy?" Tom hissed.

Harry kept a stony silence, trying not to give off how injured he was.

"If I were you, I would consider answering when a question is put to you. Otherwise, _this_ might happen."

Harry had only time to think, _No,_ before the Cruciatus Curse seized him. Agony on top of injury. Excruciating pain on top of white-hot agony. He only suffered for what was probably a short time, but it left him writhing, struggling for breath and knowing the rawness in his throat had come from screaming.

"I like you better this way, boy," Tom said, suddenly standing by Harry's side. "I wish your school friends could see you now—panting, useless and about to die an agonizing death. I wish the whole Wizarding world could see you like this." Harry caught the way Tom was relishing every word, and he dreaded where this monologue was going. "Oh, wait—they can see you, or at least _hear_ you. Ever heard of the Wizarding Wireless, Harry? I predict that your death is going to be the number one broadcast—_ever._ Want to wager on that? Of course, you'll be in no condition to collect even if you did win." Tom bent over Harry and stared malevolently into his face. "I suggest you ready yourself."

And then there was a tug on Harry's feet and his body slid across the floor. Harry gritted his teeth as his already raw back was scraped across the floor. He fought to flip over, to sit up, but it was useless. The pain grew and grew, until Harry had no choice. If he was to stay sane, to stay focused, he was going to have to retreat.

_But not all the way,_ he cautioned himself. The last time he'd pulled himself inside his Shield, when the two Love Potions were warring inside him, he'd been almost unable to escape again. This time, he'd leave a crack.

Harry pulled his shield around his mind, cutting off the pain in his body and the sound of Tom's goading. It was quiet and calm there, inside his dove gray sphere.

But if he chose to focus on it, there was one tiny sliver of a world where agony was all and death was hovering. He had no idea where his body was being taken, only that it had something to do with the Wizarding Wireless and his schoolmates watching him die. He did _not_ want to go there.

Fear clutched at his heart and he desperately called up Snape's words. "As long as you can perform your final act, it doesn't matter what they do to hurt you. _Pain doesn't matter._ _Focus."_

So. Harry clutched at his resolve. He was the One. He had been prepared for this. So many witches and wizards were all counting on him. His friends needed him to do this. The world needed him to do this. What is one life in comparison with thousands, millions? Nothing. _Pain doesn't matter. _

Tom was dragging him a long way. Eventually, Harry thought to try a concentrated, controlled _Mobilicorpus_ spell on himself. He opened his Shield. If he could only lift himself a few centimeters off the floor . . .

It worked. Now his back . . . _oh—_it was too painful—

Harry slipped back inside his shield. What was he going to do?

_Pain doesn't matter. _

Where was Tom taking him? There were other sounds around now, and a change in the air around him, but before Harry could discover more, a blanket of darkness smothered him. He fought a few moments before surrendering to the inevitable.

"_Harry!"_

Harry woke with a gasp, pain stealing his breath. Screaming. People were screaming—not him. But his back was on fire. His shield had failed when he'd lost consciousness. Gritting his teeth, he rolled on to his side and bit his lip when his left foot hit the ground. Cradling his left arm, he tried to focus on the blurry world around him. They'd taken his glasses. Instant panic took him. No glasses. No wand. He couldn't even _see_ all the people that wanted to kill him, here in this place.

It was so loud, there were so many people out there around him. Was this an arena?

Overhead, the moon was bright with its quarter smile and the stilted breeze was ripe with a nauseating mix of fresh grass and hot blood. The Death Eaters had been busy. Someone was moaning close by. Wherever Harry looked, clumps of figures in black robes with skull-white masks stood, vulture-like, over their victims.

Harry gritted his teeth to stop from calling out for his friends. Were they here? Were they already being tortured?

He forced himself to look beyond the Death Eaters to the stadium, where a constant roar of nearly unintelligible sound was buffeting him. Sometimes he could make out individual voices, but that didn't make it better.

"_Harry! Oh god, Harry, get up!" _someone screamed.

"_Fight him, Harry!"_

"_Help us!"_

They all sounded like that, as if a thousand people were at the end of reason and the beginning of madness. The Death Eaters had taken them there.

"_Get up, Harry!"_

"_Please, oh, please—some one help him!"_

Harry was shirtless, wandless and helpless. Vivid memories of Malfoy Manor assaulted him. He'd been in the same position there and Snape had helped him. Fixed his eyes, gave him a potion, brought him his wand. Had he ever said thank you for that? Properly? Never mind, he was here again. Needing Snape. Needing somebody. And this time, he had a much larger audience.

What had Snape told him?

_Focus!_

"Ah, he is awake," Tom's voice came out of nowhere, echoing horribly around the arena. Cheers went up from all around the stadium, hissing and namecalling as well, from the Death Eaters prowling toward him. "Then, let us begin our first Wizarding Wireless Network broadcast from Hell Manor, something I imagine we will be doing once a week from here on out as we deal with those who oppose us." A dark, blurry figure appeared at Harry's right, red eyes gleaming. "Today, in attendance, we have the entire Ministry of Magic staff, as well as those students from Hogwarts who saw fit to oppose our agenda. And how is our crowd feeling today?" A faltering roar of defiance came back. "Ah, not so brave now that our Minister is dead and our boy hero has shown up in such pitiable shape, are we?"

Harry, by now, had forced himself upright, but only made it to one knee when Tom stopped in front of him, his red eyes horribly in focus. "Let us welcome our guest of honor, the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter." Again, a din of noise rose from the stadium.

"Yes, yes. We'll hear from him in a moment. But for now, I would like to take a moment to outline the genius of my plan and to prepare those of you out there listening—prepare you for despair. You see, the Ministry has already fallen. Dumbledore is dead and Hogwarts has fallen, or to be specific, will fall within the hour now. My Death Eaters are here in force with me now, but I will begin sending them out tomorrow evening to seek out and destroy all those who, foolishly, vainly, oppose me. All that remains is to take care of the last, best hope of the Wizarding World." He paused, smiled and turned to Harry.

"Have anything to say, Boy-Who-Is-About-To-Die?"

Harry licked his lips and tried to steady himself. "It's not over yet." His rough voice, caught by the WWN, was broadcast all over the stadium as well.

Tom twitched and leaned closer into Harry's face. "No, it's not over because I don't _want_ it to be over. I want you to beg for death before I, as your Lord, grant it. And this time, neither your Mum, your Godfather, nor Your Headmaster is here to save you." He laughed, joined in by those around Harry.

"You're wrong," Harry started to choke up, and paused to stand and regain control. "They are here with me. Their love is and it will save me once again." The words felt right and Harry suddenly knew what his path must be. Hate wasn't his strength. He couldn't be like Snape. He couldn't cut out his heart and still fight.

The Death Eaters had jeered most of the way through his statement, but Tom held up a hand for silence. Voices cut off all over the stadium and an eerie quiet took over.

"Love will save you? Love?" The Death Eaters laughed with Tom again. "Are you speaking of the pity that the Weasley family has felt for you, the fruit of which was pushing their own children aside in order to support, nay, to suck up to the hero of the Wizarding World?"

"No!" Harry shouted, swaying on his feet. "No! Of course they don't do that! They—"

But with a wave of Tom's wand, Harry's voice was removed from the WWN, banished to a quiet protest that Tom easily overcame. "I have someone here who'd beg to differ with you on that statement. Actually, he'd beg for just about anything at this point. But he is a Weasley himself. What was his name? Percival? Is that your name—dog?"

Tom turned aside so that Harry could see Death Eaters pulling one of the limp bodies off of the ground, one with trademark red hair. "Yes, yes, my Lord," Percy whined in a pain-wracked voice. Harry's stomach churned and he was glad he couldn't see Percy's face more clearly. Nothing he said would mean anything more than they had tortured him long enough to force him to say it. "My parents turned me out. They believed anything Harry Potter said and he turned them against me!" Some dissenters in the audience booed. _"He did!_ I tried to tell them—I tried to tell them, but they wouldn't listen!"

Tom walked closer to Percy, putting a large, thin hand on the young man's head. "And did you tell them about me?" he said in a silky voice.

"Of—of course, my Lord," he squeaked out.

"_Stop it!"_ Harry cried, but his voice didn't carry far enough. He started forward, limping.

Percy was becoming frantic. "I told them you were a merciful Lord, a great Master and they betrayed me. You know mothers and fathers do that sometimes—_you know that!"_

"You told them I was merciful?" Tom was relishing the words.

"_Yes! Yes! I did!"_ Percy fell forward on his hands and knees as the Death Eaters pitched him forward.

"You lied." Tom said, waving his wand idly. "_Avada Kedarva."_

A green flash of light struck Percy in the face and he fell backwards, dead.

"_No!"_ Harry screamed, limping the remainder of the way and falling down to his knees beside Percy. All he could see was Mrs. Weasley's face. Was she hearing this over the radio even now? _No . . . _

Tom stalked around Harry, his cloak billowing. "A Weasley has died, Harry. How does that make you feel?"

Tears were streaming down Harry's face as he checked Percy for signs of breathing. Of course, there were none. _No . . ._ He knew what Snape would say to him, that he was weak, losing focus, that Tom was getting exactly what he wanted. But Harry had no choice. He could not NOT feel. It was impossible. _"You bastard,"_ he whispered to Tom.

"For those of you at home who cannot see the face of our boy hero, he is crying openly, unable to speak. Crying. For _that_ waste of wizarding power. For someone who had betrayed him as surely as Wormtail betrayed his parents. Which reminds me . . . Wormtail."

"Yes, yes, my lord?" A lumpy figure in black came scrurrying up and the Dark Lord waved his wand, turning him into a rat again.

Harry's gaze shot around the stadium. Where was Snape?

"Wormtail, you piece of human excrement. I thought I might offer Harry the chance to confront you. He should avenge his father's death, you know. Harry?"

Harry shook his head, keeping one hand on Percy's still body, cradling the other against his body.

"Harry . . . you're not cooperating. Perhaps you need a little reminder of who is in control here? _Crucio!"_

Harry's skull imploded. Crimson, black and neon blue flashed behind his eyes. The pain was unbearable. No shield. Breathless, constricted, spasming, he tried to focus. The shield was slow to rise and ever slower to grow large enough to wrap around his mind. But in the end, it was there and Harry pulled inside desperately, leaving a slit to keep the world open. Tremors seized his body from head to foot.

How was he going to go on like this, if Tom kept him in wracking pain?

Finally, his body stopped heaving and he knew it was over. He slowly opened his shield a bit more, allowing more of his consciousness to interact with reality. His body felt like it was expanding—painfully—after being crushed by a giant hand.

"A different answer this time?" Tom prodded him with the toe of one black shoe.

"Your control . . . over the s-situation . . . is . . . an illusion," Harry breathed out, but his voice echoed through the stadium. The crowd came alive in response.

"Oh. Then, perhaps, this is an illusion as well? _Crucio!"_

_No._ Harry couldn't take it again. He Sensed the pain coming and put a hand up, blocking it without even thinking. A new influx of power breathed life into him and he wondered, tremblingly, if he had pulled that power from Ron or Ginny. _Damn. _

"_Crucio!"_

Again, Harry blocked it. He had no other choice. What was taking Snape so long?

"Obviously, you're well enough to duel. Then, by all means, let us get this over with. Stand up, boy!" Tom demanded, waving his wand threateningly.

Harry lay inert, saving his strength. He knew what Tom was going to do next.

"Stand up!" Tom lifted his wand, and Harry felt an invisible hand bend and force him to his feet. The pain was constant, but not overwhelming. But he could not duel—not like this, injured and—

"Before we continue, I would like to see how this boy was captured. Severus?"

"My Lord," a Death Eater walked smoothly into the circle, dark cloak billowing behind, white mask of pain in place. "You wish to enjoy my memory?"

"Take off your mask," Tom commanded.

Snape bowed his head and removed his mask, sneer in place. Around the arena, the crowd went mad. Harry could feel the hate flowing toward Snape and suddenly felt extreme concern for the delicacy of Snape's position.

Could Snape show this memory without revealing that he was helping Harry? Possibly . . . yes, he had been perfectly in character when he'd used the Incarcerous spell against Harry and then captured the twins. But he would have to keep Tom out of the rest of the memories of the evening . . .

"_Legilimens!" _

Snape looked completely relaxed and calm as Tom's wand pointed at him and the dark red eyes bored into his own. Harry snapped his head to look at Wormtail, who was shaking visibly as he watched Snape.

The arena grew quiet. Harry swayed on his feet, causing a surge of pain on his left leg.

Suddenly, Tom began to laugh, a mirthless chuckling that grew deeper and deeper with intent. He released Snape and turned to Harry.

"You destroyed the Veil?" His voice was touched with surprise.

"Yes."

Tom turned back to Snape. "Then the Dementors are no more?"

"Yes, my Lord, I am afraid that is the case. As a result, Hogwarts has not . . . fallen. But I am sure it is only a matter of—"

Over the loud cheering from the stands, Tom screeched _"Crucio!"_

Harry stilled his hand, though he wanted to block the curse with all of his heart. Snape fell to the ground, writhing and screaming hoarsely. The cheering from the crowd redoubled and Harry had to hold himself in check more closely.

_Focus._ If he moved now, if he betrayed the slightest interest in saving Snape, then all would be lost. _Damn. Damn. Damn._

"I am disappointed in you, Severus," Tom said in a caressing voice after he cancelled the curse. "Could you not have stopped the boy from destroying the Veil before you captured him? You know what the penalty is for disappointing me? Ask Wormtail." Tom's eyes shot a gaze of pure malevolence at Wormtail, who whimpered.

Harry was shaking. He couldn't stand by and watch this. His only—

Suddenly, the lighting in the stadium flared bright yellow and everyone grew quiet. The Death Eaters turned to Tom as one.

Tom paused, his wand still aimed at Snape. "Intruders. How . . . interesting. Go—and stop them."

Death Eaters scattered.

"But, Lord, how can there be intruders?" Harry instantly recognized the harsh voice of Bellatrix Lestrange from behind him. "Unless . . . Severus Snape has betrayed us!"

Tom turned and addressed the figure directly behind him. "Severus, you are the Secret-Keeper for the location of Hell Manor. Is it possible you were tortured into insanity at Hogwarts and forced to give up the address?" Snape stood motionless, arms crossed in front of him. "No . . . I didn't think so. You have betrayed me . . . after all these years." Harry heard the change in tone and feared for his Professor.

"I knew it! I knew it all along!" Bellatrix screeched. _"Kill him!"_

"He's mine—first. Then you may have him. Oh, look, he's making a potion. Should I be concerned, Severus? Are you planning to kill me, too? You should know, Severus, that it's impossible," he added conversationally. _"Crucio!"_

Snape, who had just Summoned a bubbling cauldron from somewhere nearby, blocked the spell and threw a countercurse immediately.

Tom blocked it and sent a Bludgeoning Curse toward the cauldron, which Snape barely managed to block. Bellatrix, who alone had remained behind, sent a curse at the cauldron as well. Snape, blocked it as well while muttering something.

"This must be an important potion, Severus. You do love to talk. Why don't you tell us what it is?"

"It's a potion for me, Master!" Wormtail was suddenly there in front of Harry, shoving Harry's wand into his hands before turning back to Tom. "I repay my debt and refuse your gift, Lord. _Diffindo!"_ He screeched as the spell sliced through his arm. "No longer is my flesh willingly given! I take it back! I take it all back" He fell to his knees, sobbing. The silver hand rose into the air, a greenish tint surrounding it. As it approached the cauldron, Tom gave a violent start.

Harry stepped forward, trembling. "Blood of an enemy—given _willingly_ this time." He also cast a Diffindo spell, slicing open his arm once again in the same place Wormtail had cut two years before. The blood drifted up, caught by Snape's spell.

Tom, who had seemed stunned by the realization of what they were doing, now laughed. _Not a good sign._ "For those of you listening at home, Severus Snape, the great traitor, has set up his own classroom in the arena. He has managed to convince Wormtail to give back the silver hand I gave him in return for his flesh at my rebirth, and the boy has given his blood. And what do you have there, Professor Snape? Another bit of bone dust from my father?" he asked arrogantly.

Harry's heart sank. Tom wasn't even worried. The crowd was restless, but quiet, watching intently.

"No, Dark Lord," Snape said, his voice shaking slightly. "This is from the ring finger if your dead mother." Snape uncorked the vial and added it to the potion, which immediately turned sulfur yellow. A foul-smelling steam rose and began to cloud the area.

Tom seemed to freeze up completely for several long seconds. Then he screamed, _**"Stop him!" **_and several things happened at once. Bellatrix ran toward Snape, the lighting around the arena began to flicker again, the wind began to swirl, and Tom's voice echoed mightily. _"Cease or you will not live to see my reign!"_

Snape was intent on the potion. Spitting with hatred, Bellatrix stopped and threw a Killing Curse at him. Already fading fast, Harry pushed himself forward awkwardly and shoved Snape out of the way. They both landed hard. Snape threw up a Shield to protect the cauldron from Tom's Reductor Curse.

Breathing through gritted teeth, Harry got to his feet, favoring his left leg more heavily now. He moved to the cauldron, raised his wand and closed his eyes. Everything seemed to slow and his Senses went out. There were five curses coming toward him and Snape, two of them Killing Curses. Some of the other Death Eaters had run back when their master had called_. Damn._

Harry jerked his wand down and back up, lifting dirt, rock and stone up out of the earth, forming a circle around them to absorb the curses. As the circle began exploding around him, Harry Focused and brought his Shield up—and out.

The dove gray Shield shimmered around him and Snape together, translucent but strong enough to absorb the remaining Curses. _"Hurry,"_ Harry said through clenched teeth. Already he felt the Shield flicker, but then new strength bled into him. _No._ It had come from someone, he was sure of it. _Ron?_

Harry closed his eyes and Sensed outward. He saw the multiple Curses spun his way from the surrounding Death Eaters, saw Wormtail on the ground, his Magical Energy fading in the throes of death from Tom's Killing Curse, and beyond, the Magical Signatures of hundreds upon hundreds of people in the crowd—some students he recognized—but many that he didn't. Was Ron here? Hermione? Ginny?

Nowhere could he find their energy. He sobbed in relief—they weren't here being tortured. He stretched farther outward, farther toward the Manor. Beyond the mansion there was an imposing line of dark magic creatures. Harry puzzled out that some must be giants, and some vampires and veela. Farther beyond that, after a long empty stretch of land, there was an advancing guard—the Order of the Phoenix! And with them, House Elves, Centaurs and even a few goblins.

Harry searched among the witches and wizards and nearly lost concentration when he found Ron, Ginny, Tobias, Draco and Hermione among them. Ron was faltering, already down before the battle began, probably because of Harry's Magical drain on him. Ginny looked slow as well. _Damn that spell!_

Harry was jerked back to himself when three simultaneous curses hit the Shield, severely draining his energy. With dread, he felt another influx of power and groaned.

"Do it, _now!"_ he snapped at Snape.

"How many times must I tell you that Potions cannot be rushed!" Snape hissed back venomously. "It will be ready when it has reached the correct temperature and when—ah, when the smoke turns blood-red." Harry glanced back and saw the bloody smoke filling the Shield.

"Put down the Shield, Harry," Snape said softly.

Harry waited until another Cruciatus Curse reflected off the Shield, then dropped it. The smoke, already grown thick, reached toward Tom with a will of its own.

Tom shrieked and spun Curse after Curse at it, with no effect.

"Master!" Bellatrix screamed. _"NO, MASTER!"_ She threw herself in front of him, wand raised, as the smoke crawled over them. A horrible scream tore the air, joined by another one.

Snape moved up beside Harry. "Did it work?" he breathed out. "It must work."

Harry strained to see through the crimson smoke. When it slowly cleared, one clean, white skeleton, stripped of all flesh and blood, lay on the ground—Bellatrix? Above it stood what was left of Tom. Harry gasped. Tom's face was bulging, rotting, dripping pieces as he touched it with limp, lifeless hands. "No," he moaned, "my body!" Then he focused on Harry and Snape. Walking stiff-legged toward them, his expression hard, he bit out the words, "But I'm still here."

"_Impossible,"_ muttered Snape, putting a protective hand across Harry.

"And I'm still alive enough to do this—_Avada Kedarva!"_

Snape thrust Harry behind him and took the Curse. Tom's laughter rang through the arena as Harry hit the ground, hard. His head ringing, Harry lay there, unsure whether or not he was actually hearing the sounds of fighting nearby.

"For those of you at home, you will understand if I gloat. Severus Snape, the traitor, is dead._"_ The six Death Eaters that had returned cheered. The crowd remained silent.

_The crowd? _

"I am invincible!" Tom crowed, even as the back of his head fell to the ground with a wet _plomp_. "The Prophecy was wrong. I cannot die! So, are you ready to die, boy?" Tom hissed.

Harry ignored him. With sudden inspiration, he knew how to make Plan B work. Quickly, he used his Senses to search within the arena's grounds for wands taken from the crowd —there they were, sitting in a pile, waiting to be destroyed. Harry focused on the pile, lifted it and scattered the wands into the stands.

The crowd cheered and the Death Eaters scrambled. The air came alive with curses, not all of them perfectly aimed, but none of them even came close to Harry. From the open entrance at the front, Death Eaters came pouring in, driven by something coming through after them. _Grawp!_ Harry couldn't see him well, but he knew him by size and by voice.

"_Hag-eerrrrr!"_

A lot of people screamed and there was an instant panic.

The last Harry had heard of Grawp, Hagrid had found him a temporary cave to live in not far from the school. Obviously, he had come out of hiding, and from what it sounded like, he was angry about something done to Hagrid. Grawp strode onto the field, sweeping small, angry, curse-throwing Death Eaters off left and right. The curses bounced off Grawp harmlessly.

A black body moved into Harry's line of vision, and he looked up in surprise—blanching at what he saw. Tom's red eyes glared down at him from a half-decomposed, skeletal face that had already lost its jaw. He could no longer taunt Harry, or even say a curse, but his eyes were full of hate.

"_Harry!_ _**Diffindo!"**_

Tom whirled around and dodged the jet of red light, but the bones of his right arm swung off, and his left leg collapsed, forcing him to one knee.

Luna Lovegood was limping toward him, her wand trained on Tom's decaying body. "Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry almost answered that he was fine, but couldn't because of the pain. He just nodded and struggled to sit up. Then Tom lunged, his bony hand clamping onto Harry's damaged leg, sending sharp, shooting pains up his whole body.

"_LEAVE HIM ALONE!"_ screeched Hermione, who was suddenly running up accompanied by someone—was that Dean? Yes, it was, and he was no longer under the Imperius.

"Harry!" he cried out before spinning a low roundhouse kick that landed in the center of Tom's chest—the immediate effect of which there was no longer a body there. Pieces of Tom went flying off in every direction, pieces of his decaying flesh splattering bystanders.

People in the stands cheered. The Death Eaters stared, horrified to see their leader gone. Some broke and ran. Some Apparated out. But some, with death on their faces, stalked toward Harry.

"Harry," Hermione said tearfully, kneeling beside him, "are you all right?"

"_Look out,"_ he warned her.

Hermione stood, stepped over him and held out her wand at the oncoming Death Eaters. "Just you try it, you bloody bastards!"

"We're ready," Dean agreed, standing at her side with Luna.

Harry, even with his three friends there back-to-back-to-back, could not find the strength to get up. Weakly, he raised his wand, knowing that any spell he cast would pull more from the Weasleys.

"Harry!" A blur on a broom sped up, sending Curses among the Death Eaters, scattering them.

"_Charlie?"_ Harry watched him enviously as he dodged Curses and maneuvered himself between Harry and the Death Eaters. Grawp had pounded off, chasing Death Eaters up into the stands.

"There's more coming—hold on!" Charlie jumped off the broom and knelt by Harry "Bill and the others are still fighting at the gates."

"Where's Ron? And Ginny?" Harry managed, as Charlie slid an arm under him in an attempt to get him on his feet.

"Coming. A bit slow. You know how Ron is when's there Veela around," he said with a strained grin. From that, Harry knew his friend was having a rough time.

"And Ginny?"

"Any second now. Just keep your head in the game, right?"

Harry nodded and leaned on Charlie to stand. "She's all right?"

"Yeah. Fine," Charlie grunted as he took most of Harry's weight. "Bad leg?"

Harry nodded and took several deep breaths. "Can we get out of here?"

"I'll help, Harry," interrupted a small voice beside him, and Harry turned to see a flushed, tear-stained Collin Creevy. "Bastards got my brother."

"I'm sorry," Harry offered.

Colin nodded and took his place by Charlie, wand out. Almost immediately, he put up a Shield to block a _Diffindo_ Curse from Antonin Dolohov, which knocked him back a few meters. Dolohov was stupid enough to still be trying to get to Harry.

"It's not over, Potter! Not yet!" He started to throw another curse, but Hermione hit him with an Incarcerous.

"I'm here, Harry," Lavender Brown said, stumbling up to the group, crying. "Are you all right? They were so . . . horrible . . ." and she collapsed on Dean, sobbing. Dean put one arm around her and held his wand up with the other. He looked at Harry.

"Sorry about before, mate. I—I don't know what happened. Last thing I remember, I was getting ready for the Quidditch Match, you know?"

Harry, who was feeling light-headed now, clutched at Charlie and nodded.

"Later," Charlie told him tersely. "All right, Harry?"

But Harry wasn't feeling well. His scar was burning . . . getting so bad that he had to shut his eyes, press a hand against his head and cry out. Then there was a flash of pain and he was falling into darkness . . .

When he came to, it was much quieter, and he was laying on something soft. His eyes drifted open, seeing quarter moon, clouds, empty stands, and then shut again. He was still outside, still at Hell Manor, and groups of people were talking quietly around him, about him.

". . . believe it's over so soon. I mean, I thought there would be . . ." the voice fell into a whisper.

". . . fourteen vampires! If Remus hadn't brought a few werewolf friends . . . it would have been ugly."

". . . giants were nothing. It was the goblins that—Harry! Is he awake?"

"He's thinking about it," murmured a soft voice over him. _Ginny!_ She was leaning over him, bright brown gaze fixed on his face, because his head was in her lap.

A dry laugh nearby told him that Draco had survived fine. "No. He's thinking about _you."_

Ginny leaned down and kissed him softly. Harry smiled. Draco groaned.

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked as soon as she pulled away.

"He's asleep—that same Magical drain as before. But he'll be fine."

"And Tom?"

Ginny sighed. "We think he's gone."

Harry heard the hesitation in her voice. Had someone explained to her the part of Tom that was residing in Harry's scar? For that matter, was it still there? Would Harry even know? Or was it waiting in there, waiting for a weak moment on Harry's part when it might take over?

Harry shifted slightly, then sucked in a pained breath through his teeth.

"Don't move," Ginny warned him. "The Healers haven't arrived yet, and I . . .don't know how to treat all of your injuries," her voice sounded forcedly unemotional.

Harry reached for her hand with his good one. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm all right." He lay back, wondering how long that would last. "Where's Hermione?"

"With Ron. She doesn't know you're awake, but Cho was going to let her know."

"Cho's here?" Harry was confused.

"Yes. Everyone wanted to help, Harry. Everyone," she whispered, leaning over to kiss Harry's forehead. "You were so brave. We heard all of it." A warmth spread from her gentle touch to every part of his body. She had survived. So had he. Was there a future for them after all? A time when they could be together without—

A searing pain tore into Harry's Shield—he hadn't even realized it was still up. How had it still been up? Protection from the—

He screamed.

"_Harry, what's wrong?"_

Someone threw himself beside Harry. "It's Voldemort," Draco shouted, "he's attacking from the inside. How in the bloody hell can he do that?"

_A small part of his soul was left in me. Now that's the only part of him alive. _

"Oh, god."

Harry heard Draco begin to explain and then the world outside began to fade. _Procclumency, Draco. Procclumency! Plan B!_

Tom was screaming inside his head, something Harry couldn't understand, but his body was on fire. His scar was going to split his head in two. He thrashed in Ginny's arms.

_. . . doesn't hear me . . ."_

Draco's voice was so loud.

People were arguing. Ginny was pulled from him. The pain . . .

"_. . . everybody understand?"_

Tom was in him, tearing into memories, slashing at his Magic, ripping into his mind. _**STOP!**_ Harry screamed at him. Minutes passed—hours, days; an eternity of agony.

_STOP! Please . . . dear god . . ._

Snatches of conversation floated through his mind, but he could no longer feel his body at all—just pain.

"_. . . last chance . . ."_

"_. . . love you, Harry . . ."_

"_. . . ready on three . . ."_

Then a bright light flooded his mind.

_It is morning, and he's at the window in the Gryffindor Common Room. The sky is bright blue already—perfect for Quidditch. A small touch on his shoulder and he's turning around. Only, he's seeing this memory from Ginny's point-of-view and he gets an eyeful of himself, but as Ginny sees him. She's worried about the black circles under his eyes and drawn to the scar on his forehead. She thinks his eyes are brilliant this morning and that his smile makes her insides wiggle. Ginny Weasley loves him . . . _

Then it flickered and all was dark, howling pain again.

Another blinding light appeared and this time, it was Hermione.

_They are walking from Transfiguration Class, where Harry has just gotten top marks for his goblet, and Hermione is pestering him._

"_But how did you know what it should look like?"_

"_Hermione, can we give it a rest? Your goblet was fine—spectacular!" Harry turns to her, exasperated. _

_Hermione sees the frustration on his face, stops and holds up both her hands. She's been promising herself not to stress him out this year. In fact, she practiced this very situation just two days ago, with Ginny coaching her. "Sorry, Harry. I'm sorry. I'm being obsessive again, aren't I?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Well, then, let's talk about something else, something less I'm less obsessive about . . . how about House Elves?" Hermione says brightly, sliding a sly glance at Harry._

_He stops and stares at her, then cracks up. Happy, Hermione joined in. They laugh until tears are rolling down their cheeks._

Once again, the light faded and this time, Harry was fighting to stay conscious. Then came another explosion of light, another memory, this time from Charlie.

_Harry and Charlie are meeting up after the only-partially successful plan to get Harry to school at the beginning of term. Charlie is feeling funny, only half transformed back into himself from being Harry's double, and is confessing that he didn't actually like pretending to be Harry very much. _

"_Bloody hell, Harry. Seems like everyone was either trying to get my autograph, tell me how Voldemort was going to do me in and how they were going to help him, or trying to get into my pants."_

_Harry blinks and gets that stunned look—the one he always gets whenever someone makes him suddenly self-aware. "Who was trying into your pants?"_

_Charlie has to grin. "__**Your**__ pants, mate. Not mine. And I'm not answering that question, as I'd have to incriminate several young witches who should have bloody well known better. Hopefully, I got my message across."_

Flash. Another memory.

_Dumbledore and the D.A. are walking with Harry, seeing him safely home from the Infirmary. When they reach the third flight of stairs, Harry stops and gazes in shock at the line of his housemates stretching from the fourth floor stairs and up as far as the Gryffindor Common Room. Lavender pokes Collin, who takes a picture of the slow smile on Harry's face. _

_They start moving up and as soon as the Headmaster reaches the first Gryffindor, they all start cheering. Students are reaching around Fred and George to shake Harry's hand, calling out their thanks again and again. Then, the Gryffindors follow right behind Harry, piling in until it is dangerously crowded all along the stairs. Harry has to be pushed up ahead by Fred and George just to squeeze through at the top. The clamouring and cheering only grows louder as they approach the Common Room door, as the hallway is lined by Harry's house mates as well._

_At the door, Dumbledore steps back and gives Harry a smile. "Welcome home, Harry." Lavender is smiling as well, and wiping away a tear. "Welcome home, Harry," she whispers, marveling that she could feel so much affection for someone not in her own family. _

Another flash.

_It is earlier in the night, and Harry is running past Draco up the stairs. Feeling snippy and out of sorts, Draco turns to stare at the Boy-Who-Lived. "Are you done with your little temper tan—"_

_Harry's wand whips around, aimed at Draco's throat. Draco swallows. "Obviously not."_

"_Do you remember what they did to Tobias when they had him down there—just to make me angry?" The look in Harry's eyes startles Draco. The vicious, righteous anger is quite normal, but the abject desperation fueled by stark fear—that is new. "And now they have __**Ginny?**__ I feel like someone is ripping me apart." Though the words have a touch of melodrama to them, Draco can see that it is true. Harry even has to catch a breath before he can continue. "Is there __**anyone**__ you care about enough to understand that?"_

_Draco opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself, pausing to really think. "I don't know. There used to be." Everyone has been taken from him—parents, friends, girlfriend (of a sort). Who __**does**__ he care about? His eyes fall on Harry and jump away immediately. No one would believe that. But if he asks himself how he would feel if the Dark Lord got his hands on Harry, Draco's heart squeezes tight like a fist. That's how his heart used to respond to insults about his parents. Confused, Draco falls back against the wall, muttering to himself. "I suppose we'll soon see." _

_As Harry climbs the stairs, Draco wonders how Harry would feel if he knew they had suddenly become friends, without either of them realizing it._

Harry could not smile or respond, but he felt the warmth of the memory to his core. And as more and more memories were thrust into Harry's mind, he gradually became aware of what was happening. _Procclumency_. They were sending him their memories, sending him their love.

Tom _hated_ it. He couldn't stand it. Harry felt his soul trying to pull away. The pain was intolerable; it was beginning to break him down. He felt himself begin to scream. He couldn't take much more.

The flashes began to come faster. He saw the day Remus Lupin taught him to do a Patronus.

He saw himself grabbing the Snitch, kissing Ginny, giving the speech at the beginning of term, retreating from rabid fangirls, in a food fight, flying on BuckBeak, hugging Sirius, and, thrown in amongst the others, Snape's memory of their visit to his mother.

Hope. Joy. _Love._

Tom began to lash out, striking deep within Harry's body. Without thinking, Harry pulled his Shield up. For the first time, the pain diminished slightly.

Harry opened his eyes. He wanted to get a last look at everyone. Ron, Charlie and Remus were leaning on his lower body, trying to stop the spasms that jerked him around relentlessly.

"Harry?" Remus asked, his face gray and haggard, "is it working?"

Harry licked his lips and tasted blood. "Yes. He . . . hates it," he croaked.

Ginny, who was directly over him, her face white and strained, said, "Good! I love you, Harry. Please . . ."

Harry nodded, but couldn't reply. The pain was already growing again. His body couldn't hold on much longer.

"_Hermione?" _

Ginny looked over her shoulder to call, "Hermione, he's awake! _Hurry!"_

Harry gave Ron another look, saw the exhaustion in his pale face, the blood on his cheeks and the desperation in his eyes. Knowing the word to be completely inadequate for all they had been through together and for all the ways Ron had been there for him—a lifeline, a bonded friend, a protector—Harry managed a simple, _"Thanks." _

He could tell by the tightening of Ron's mouth and the intense look in his eyes that the meaning was understood. Ron didn't say anything, but reached over and put a hand behind Harry's neck and held it there as Harry spasmed in renewed pain.

_Draco,_ Harry thought to his other, newer friend, _thank you._

"Don't die on us, you little . . ." Draco's voice faded out.

"Harry!" Hermione fell to her knees beside him and leaned in closely. "_Fight him, Harry!_ Close your eyes."

"No—"

"You have to fight him!" she was close to tears. "Don't give up!"

"_I have to—say . . ."_

"What?"

She bent closer and he forced out a whisper, _"love you."_ Hermione's eyes flew wide, then filled with tears and she began shaking her head. Ron released Harry and took her hand.

"_Ginny?"_ Harry whispered and she leaned over him, gripping his hand tighter. _"Be strong,"_ he told her. _"Love . . . you."_

"And I love you . . . Harry James Potter," Ginny said between heaving breaths, her brown eyes red-rimmed and quickly filling. "I always will."

"I love you, too, Harry," Hermione put a steadying hand on Ginny and took another breath. "Now, close your eyes and think about your Mum and your Dad. Remember the wedding picture you have? They were so happy and they loved you so much . . ."

Harry's back arched up off the ground as he remembered. These memories hurt Tom, and Tom was hurting Harry in return. Vicious cycle. Only one way to stop it.

"Remember the big breakfasts Mrs. Weasley always makes you eat at her house? She never thinks you get enough and is never happier than when you ask for seconds . . ."

Harry fought to focus on his Shield. He shook and gritted his teeth and ignored the pain. He brought up his Shield. He circled it around himself, and closed it off—completely.

Silence. Absence of pain. Peace.

Having nothing left, Harry floated down into the dove gray nothingness, releasing his life, his burden, his future into whatever hands held it now. He had done all he could.


	31. Epilogue

Epilogue

Remus Lupin was slouched back in his chair, one arm slung over his face, hovering between slumber and waking. As usual, his nightmares began before he slept. The image of Harry, bloodied, battered and fighting to survive Voldemort's attack on his mind and soul was burned into Remus' psyche.

A mirthless smile crossed his face. When he was old and drooling, he'd be able to sketch that picture out in full detail. That picture, as well as the picture of Harry in St. Mungo's, silent, still and in a coma. Remus had lost count of how many hours he'd sat, representing Harry's parents and godfather, waiting for the least sign of improvement.

A futile mission, something even the most optimistic Healers had agreed upon. There had never been this type of injury before, so there could be no agreed-upon treatment. As always, _damn him,_ Harry defied the rules.

Remus felt the familiar weight pressing on his chest, the sign that it wouldn't be long before either rage or tears would claim him. Harry didn't deserve this. Once again, he'd sacrificed so much to benefit so many, and thus far, he was the only one alive unable to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

The fact was the entire Wizarding World had changed in the three weeks since Voldemort's death. Almost the entire Ministry had been put to death, including nearly all the loyal Aurors, leaving an enormous hole in the fabric of the political realm. Of course, there was no shortage of witches and wizards to fill the positions, but the public was nervous.

After that horrible night when the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts had been breached and all the captives taken to Hell Manor, the public had been difficult to reassure. In a way, it had been surprising to see Bill Weasley take the reins. His name was known to people as his father's son, and as a friend of Harry's, as were all the Weasleys. Perhaps things might have been different if Percy and Fred hadn't been lost, and if Molly wasn't prostrate with grief, but as it was, Arthur, as the sole surviving member of the Ministry, was in no shape to capitalize on the need for public figures. When asked by his father, Bill stepped up. His charm and ease in front of people great or small, his great love for Harry, the enormity of his family's losses and his involvement in the rescue at Hell Manor all put him forward, and he was asked more and more often to speak to the public on the Ministry's behalf. As heartbroken as he was, Bill was one of those people who could put personal pain aside and do what must be done. Now, there were rumors he would be asked to run as the next Minister of Magic.

_Strange days. Bill Weasley, Minister of Magic. _

Strange days, indeed. Strange just to be sitting here, post-Voldemort, knowing the bastard would never be able to come back, knowing that Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy and most of the Death Eaters were dead as well. It was a new dawn for the Wizarding World, and its hero couldn't even blink his eyes.

Clenching a fist, Remus sat up and looked down the hall to where Ginny Weasley and her Mum were sitting outside Harry's room. That was unusual. At first, when the Healers asked them to leave, they got an earful of angry Weasley women—which was daunting, to say the least. But today, he hadn't heard a raised word from either of them as they were shown the door.

They knew time was running out.

Remus leaned his head back against the wall. If only George would give up this vendetta . . .

But no, that wasn't fair. Being a werewolf was one thing, but a vampire . . .

Fred was as good as dead unless the vampire who bit him was found and staked. Charlie and George had been gone nearly two weeks now, chasing lead after lead, killing vampires that had helped Voldemort's cause. So far, they had destroyed eight while sustaining only minor injuries themselves. None of them had been the correct vampire.

Now there had been no word for two days from them, and all the Weasleys were on pins and needles. Especially Fred, who was detained on the west wing of the first floor, in the Life-Threatening Creature-Induced Injury Ward of the hospital. Ron was trying to keep him occupied and positive, but then he was only out of the hospital bed for hours at a time himself.

That bond was the difficulty, still draining Magical energy from Ron, and yet it was now the only hope they had for Harry now. Harry wasn't recovering. His wounds had been extremely slow to heal, and the Healers could only point to the link that was forged between the Weasleys and himself, the _Fraterdum Singletus._

"_But that should help him recover," Ginny had insisted. "He can take whatever he needs from us!"_

"_Yes, he __**should,"**__ agreed the Healer, an older woman with sad eyes who caressed Harry's forehead as though he was her own child. "And I'm sure it is what has kept him alive this far. But even though he __**can**__ take the magical energy from you to survive, I think he's fighting it. I don't understand why."_

_Ginny had started sobbing and Arthur had pulled her into his arms, teary-eyed himself._

_Ron, sitting, exhausted and pale, said, "He is taking some. I can feel it. He'll be all right, Ginny."_

Harry was in a coma, but he was still Harry. It made sense that he would fight it. Just after that, Ginny had come up with an idea to get around Harry. Perhaps if they could all get together—all the brothers and Ginny who shared that bond with Harry, and somehow communicate to him that they were all right, that they had energy to spare—oh, it was a long shot, as no one knew how much Harry could hear or understand what was happening around him—but it just might work.

If only George would come home . . .

Remus' thoughts strayed to Hogwarts, now closed and dark. The battle there had been fierce, and . . . surprising. Voldemort had sent the Dementors to swarm the castle, while most of the Order was still fighting House Elves and Aurors inside. Only a few desperate Order members were able to get outside to use their Patronuses and hold them off.

They had been trying to get to Hagrid, who had unexpectedly charged off on his own, angrily waving his umbrella at the intruders. The Dementors were drawn to him. Remus, whose eagle Patronus was on its way, watched in horror as they swarmed in a dark halo over the half-giant, circling so tightly that Hagrid was hidden from view.

Then something totally miraculous happened, something that could not be rationally explained. Flowing onto the field scurried hundreds of spiders, from smaller ones that could barely be seen to larger ones that made Remus pull back in disgust. They were all heading straight for Hagrid.

And a dark shadow, or what Remus thought was a shadow, crawled onto the Pitch. It was gargantuan, moving at a speed that defied its size. Over its head, it held an enormous, limp corpse. And it was headed right for Hagrid.

Alarmed, Remus began to run down the path, and he arrived just in time to see the enormous spider laid a Manticore corpse at unconscious Hagrid's feet. Then Hagrid was picked up bodily by the large spider, which used four legs to wave up at the Dementors in impotent rage. The smaller spiders were swaying in place all over the stands, giving the entire arena the illusion of movement.

Remus was horrified, contemplating attack, and it was a few moments more before his stunned mind could realize that the creature had actually saved Hagrid from the Dementors. And saved everyone, possibly, from the Manticore as well. Hagrid had always had an unusual bond with large creatures. Could this creature be repaying his friendship now?

Then, there was the sound of hoofbeats and Remus swung around to see something else his mind deemed impossible—Centaurs heading for the castle. Shouting in surprise, Remus started to follow, then stopped, remembering Hagrid. When he turned around, the enormous spider was crawling off with his large, unmoving burden and the Dementors had pulled back up into the sky.

Remus, fighting himself for just a moment to trust something as monstrous as that spider, sprinted for the castle. The Centaurs parted to let him through, then turned to stand guard. Amazingly enough, after that, the Dementors couldn't get past them .

Remus had stood in awe as the Dementors came forward time after time, only to pull away as soon as the Centaurs moved in their direction. Centaurs and spiders—one of them a towering wreck of a spider—had come from the forest to Hagrid's rescue. Could it be that Hagrid had recruited them for the fight against Voldemort, or had they come out of some sense of loyalty to the friendly half-giant?

Either way, as a result, the castle had been protected.

Hours later, to the amazement of all, the Dementors had frozen in midair and their bodies dissolved into dark mist. In under a minute, all traces of the dark beings had been driven away by a gentle wind. Rejoicing from behind their barricade, the Order members had gathered themselves and set out to clear the castle. They were soon joined by the Centaurs, who then proved to be invaluable in routing out bad House Elves and evil Aurors, and freeing Harry's very worried friends on the third floor who had been trapped in a room, defending themselves from occasional attacks.

Remus had been there to rescue them, had seen the devastation on their faces as they recounted how Harry had been taken from them. Remus had been at a loss to understand why the castle had betrayed them so badly. There followed a mass exodus down to the dungeon, where they had found a pile of ash next to the smoldering remains of Lucius Malfoy's wand. Draco had turned white at the sight before wandering away, putting up a hand to stop Hermione from following.

Harry had not been found. Ginny had been enraged, inconsolable. The rest had tried to comfort each other but tears ran freely. It was hours before word reached them of what Severus had done, and where Harry had been taken—Hell Manor. Snape hadn't betrayed them after all.

An attack had been mounted, the most diverse in Wizarding history—every able-bodied witch and wizard of age the Order could scrounge up, as well as some younger who refused to be left behind. As this fight was for Harry as well as the freedom of the Wizarding World, the young ones were allowed to come, accompanied by Grawp, whose anger at the sight of unconscious Hagrid made him an ideal attacker, House Elves who had proved themselves loyal, and a few goblins that Bill Weasley had befriended in his work as a cursebreaker.

Unfortunately, the Wizarding Wireless broadcast had reached them as they traveled, and . . . it was impossible to describe the horror and rage as they listened to Voldemort torture and kill their friends and loved ones. Harry had been unfailingly brave and his terrible pain; his tears had fueled the ensuing battle.

That battle at Hell Manor, had been something—raw, bloody and fierce. _Sirius would have loved it_. Remus smiled a smile that quickly faded. The element of surprise had gained them far more than would have been expected, even though Voldemort's forces were called in quickly. In the end, they had formed a deadly arrowhead that moved slowly forward to the entrance of Hell Manor, no matter what creatures stood in their way. It had been a bloody, merciless march, though they had tried to contain the kids far to the inside, as back-up for those spearheading the attack. Their strategy moved from defensive to violent offensive the closer they had gotten to the entrance. Many had fallen and been Apparated out, but the middle of the pack had survived and run inside, ahead of those still battling.

_That_ was the reason Remus had been so late, had only gotten to Harry after Voldemort had possessed him. It wasn't right. Here he sat, old, used-up and past his prime, while Harry lay dying. How could he face Sirius after—

Footsteps came echoing down the hall, multiple footsteps—determined footsteps. Remus sat up expectantly and, as the first Weasley came around the corner, lurched to his feet.

It was Charlie, followed by Fred helping a weak-looking George. "Oi! Remus!" Charlie called to him, "Let's get the Boy-Who-Lived back on his feet, eh?"

Remus smiled as he saw Fred's face—no longer haggard and deeply shadowed. The redhead had gotten his natural color back and was smiling. Though George was injured—a bandage wound around his right arm and his walk favoring his left leg—the slight, relaxed smile on his face crowed his success.

Remus shook Charlie's hand enthusiastically. "Good to see you, Charlie! Of course, but where's—"

"Bill's here," called Bill good-naturedly as he came around the corner, "and so's Itsy," he said as he ruffled Ron's hair beside him.

"Cut it out," Ron grouched. "I'm taller than you now."

Ginny, down the hall, was shrieking out to them, "Fred! George—you did it!"

Mrs. Weasley, overwhelmed, just cried and held her arms out for someone to fill them.

Fred picked Ginny up and swung her around. "Yes, he did it, the stubborn old goat."

George grinned and thumped Fred on the ear. "Didn't want a vampire bat in the family. We're batty enough as it is."

"He did have a little help, you know," Charlie put in, over top of his mum's head. She was held tight in his arms, sniffing and resting against his chest as though this was food for her soul.

"_Little_ being the operative word there," George said with bated breath as Fred helped lower him to the bench by Harry's room.

"Good show, George," Remus reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't like your chances out there, alone or not, but you did a man's work. Your family has much to thank you for."

George, clearly taken aback by Remus words, turned positively scarlet and fiddled with the bandage on his arm. Charlie grinned.

"Oh, come on, Remus," Bill groaned, "don't you know better than to directly praise one of the twins? It'll go straight to his head."

"As it should," Fred said staunchly, giving George a nudge.

"Oh, just shut up about him and let's get inside," Ginny urged. "Harry _needs_ us."

Mrs. Weasley reached out to grab Ginny's hand. "Of course, dear." The brothers exchanged grim, determined looks.

Bill opened the door for the others. "After you," he said gallantly.

Remus filed in the room with the others, surprised to see that even with this many people, Harry's room still appeared far too large for one young man in one bed. It was a nice room, the nicest St. Mungo's had to offer—soft, buttercream-colored walls, dark-rose wooden floors, carved-ivory lamps hung around the room, and a glowing sky-light overhead.

Then Remus forced his eyes upon the occupant in the bed, noticing as he did so, that he wasn't the only one uncomfortable doing so. The Weasley brothers were shifting a lot as they stood by Harry's bed, listening to him take breath after labored breath, looking at him before glancing away.

With good reason.

Harry looked terrible. He'd been cleaned up, but his skin still held a ghastly gray pallor that no Healer had been able to correct. Most of him was under cover of blankets, but Remus knew more than he could see. Harry's broken finger hadn't healed—it remained swollen and had to be spelled clean of blood collecting there every day, as well as the injury to his left knee. His back was still raw and he necessarily hovered over his bed instead of lying snugly against the sheets, a desperate measure to get his back to heal. Small things, but of major concern since no one knew why he wasn't healing or what psychic or Magical injuries Harry had sustained on the inside. If Harry did not heal soon, then the toll on his body would be too great. He would die.

"So," Ron spoke up and then cleared his throat, "what do have to do? All hold hands or . . . what?"

Ginny nodded. "Do we all know what to do?"

"Yes," Remus nodded, and waited for them to get into position.

Tense looks went around the circle as the Weasleys stepped forward around Harry's bed and grabbed hands.

Looking around, Remus set the scene in his mind. They were all holding hands—Bill at the head of the bed, beside Ginny, who was holding Charlie's hand. Next came George, wincing already at the pull on his injured arm and then Fred, who was gripping Ron's hand. Bill and Ron very gently took Harry's hands.

Remus stepped up behind Ron and focused briefly on Harry, who, up close, looked even more fragile than the last time Remus had seen him. "Is everyone ready?"

The Weasleys, with determined looks on their faces, nodded. Remus raised his wand and whispered, _"Procclumens!"_

Into Harry's mind, he placed the image of the Weasleys around him, their concern and love for Harry palpable. _"They are well now, Harry. You protected them as long as you could. Now you must let them help you. They would rather give part of themselves to you than to have you leave them forever. They love you, Harry. As do I. If I could give you what I have left, I would. Take what I can't give, Harry. Take what they can. Please_."

Surely Harry wouldn't continue to ignore the bond. _Surely . . ._

A whisper of wind blew through the room. Ginny looked around with bright eyes, then focused back on Harry. "That's right. Come on, Harry. Let us help you!"

A silver glow suddenly bathed Bill's face. He looked down at his hand in shock where it held Harry's—the silver glow came from inside his grip. "That's it," he whispered, "go on, Harry." Then he threw his head back in sudden, swift agony and fell to his knees.

Shocked, everyone stared. "I'm okay," Bill said, voice tight. "But hold on. Get ready."

The light was suddenly in Ginny's hand where hers clasped Bill's. "Oh." She took several deep breaths and then gasped. Her eyes grew wide and she slowly sank to the floor by Bill.

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley cried. "Are you—oh my. Oh . . ."

Charlie, though he stayed on his feet, leaned on the bed heavily as the silver light traveled through him and out of his other hand. Fred, then George quickly received the same jolt and gripped each other's hand tightly as they fought the pain.

Ron, pale as a ghost by this time was, nonetheless, determined and steady as it came his turn. _"That's right, Harry, do it—do it! I'm ready!"_ he whispered through gritted teeth. The light seemed to glow the brightest as it traveled his body, and, from Ron's violent response, it seemed to hurt him the most. He went to his knees, his back arching, his body shaking—but he did not let go of Harry's hand or of George's. Now a complete circuit was made and Remus watched in stunned amazement—and a little concern—as the Weasleys fought to breathe, to stay upright and to be faithful to provide for Harry's needs.

It was ten minutes later at least when Ron finally dropped Harry's hand and fell back in a slump. Remus caught him and helped him back to collapse on a chair.

"Are you all right, Ron?"

"Fine, just . . . just gonna' . . . half a mo'," he said groggily. Mrs. Weasley scurried over to him, touching and patting him, kissing his hair and murmuring motherly things, tears in her eyes.

George relaxed next and sat down abruptly on the floor, eyes wide and blinking. Fred moved more slowly, grasping the bed on his way down.

"Anyone catch the name of that bus?"

"Wha' bus?" George said vaguely, catching himself on his good arm as he swayed.

"The one that just hit me."

"A bus hit you?" George asked, looking confused.

"Didn't it hit you?"

"Oh." He looked at his injured arm and smiled vaguely. "Yeah, I think it did."

"Oh, you two," Mrs. Weasley chided as she touched both of them. "Are you all right?" They both nodded, but seemed glad to lean on her.

Charlie released Ginny's hand and started walking it off, limping and working his hands as though they had cramped badly. "Bloody hell," he muttered.

Ginny, once released, pulled herself up by the bedrails. Pale as Harry now, she stared down at him intently, looking for a sign of change.

Mrs. Weasley stood and curried over to her, hands out wide. "Ginevra, are you all right?"

Ginny nodded, her gaze fixed on Harry.

Bill, the last one to be freed, stood still as Harry's hand dropped from his, weaving a bit back and forth on his feet. He walked over on shaky legs and sat in the nearest chair. "At least we know now why he wasn't doing it. That might have killed someone if they tried to take it on all at once." Shaking his head in wonder, he said, "Did we—did we do it?"

"I don't know," Ginny said, sounding tearful. "He looks the same to me." She sat down abruptly on the bed. "Does he to you?"

Remus leaned forward to see Harry more clearly. "Perhaps. But I don't doubt that what you just sacrificed will do him some good, Ginny. Give it time." Remus looked around at the Weasleys splayed about the room. "Many people will thank you for what you did today. I know I do."

The light in the room darkened slowly as the day faded, and the Weasleys didn't stir. Remus left reluctantly after a few hours, feeling the need to check on several Aurors who were still recovering as well.

Ginny, who had figured on staying indefinitely, saying something vague to herself about _until the bloody boy wakes up,_ was surprised to find the room still so crowded. Someone had brought in more chairs, and Hermione brought in a platter of food, but Ginny didn't want to sit or eat. She just watched Harry. Was it her imagination, or was he less pale now?

After dark, a Healer came in to give Harry a Potion for sustenance and general healing. Despair fought to take Ginny as she watched the Healer wave her wand and Harry's limp body respond as directed. But then, Ginny gasped.

Harry's hand, the left one—the un-bandaged one—had twitched. Leaning forward, Ginny watched his fingers, emotion gathering strength like a forest catching on fire.

"_Harry?"_

Heads around the room perked up. "What is it, Ginny?" Charlie said, jumping to his feet.

"He . . . he moved, I think."

Slowly, the family gathered around the bed, forcing the Healer to squeeze between them to escape. "I'd better get the Head Healer," she called out, a bit alarmed by the tension and intensity on their faces.

The Weasleys and Hermione stood, staring at Harry, willing him to move, to wake.

"C'mon, Harry. C'mon," Ron whispered, tears filling his eyes. Hermione gripped his hand, but said nothing.

And then, there it was. A flutter of eyelashes, a grimace, and Harry gave a soft moan.

The room erupted in cheers.

"He's awake! He's awake!"

"Harry's all right!"

"_We did it! We did it!"_

Harry opened his eyes to find Ginny beside him, in happy tears, and the rest of the Weasleys alternating between hugging each other vigorously, slapping each other on the back and doing a silly jig around the room.

"Mad," he pronounced in a croaking voice. "Starkers, the whole lot of you." But they hardly stopped, preferring to celebrate after three long weeks of worry.

"Mad about you," Ginny whispered as she leaned down. "Are you all right?"

He tried to smile. "You mean, besides the racking pain?"

"Yes," she laughed through her tears, "besides that."

"I dunno . . . I just . . ." and then tears came, swallowing him whole, despite his fiercest efforts to hold them back. Neville was dead. Dumbledore was dead . . . McGonagall, Percy. Snape had died to protect him . . . and . . . and . . .

Harry sobbed into his damaged hands, fierce grief ripping into him. After a minute, he realized that the room was emptying itself, and the cacophony of somewhat quieter voices went down the hallway. But Harry could hear more celebrations already beginning.

"_He is awake?"_ Cheers came echoing back.

"_Harry Potter is awake!"_

Footsteps came running, approaching the door in a mad rush and Harry turned away. He couldn't face them—not now. Ginny stood briefly and the door slammed shut, locking with a firm click. Someone was trying to force the door, then trying to spell it open. _"Open this door! Open it right now, I say!"_

"Sorry," Ginny called out in a sweet voice. "Come back later. He's resting."

"_Young lady, we need to get in to see Harry Potter!"_

"_This is of grave medical concern!"_

"I'm sure it is," Ginny snapped back, "but you won't be getting in for a while yet. He's fine!"

Harry tried to smile, but tears kept getting in the way. He turned his head aside into Ginny's thigh and let them come. It was miserable, horrible—the sobs wrenched at his chest and there was no end in sight. His head hurt, his back, his leg, his hand as well as his heart. But he couldn't stop. Eventually, he became aware of Ginny holding him, kissing his hair, murmuring words of love and comfort ceaselessly. A few of her tears dropped on his arm and he suddenly found himself shuddering to a stop.

Ginny wiped his face with a tissue gently, and he took it from her with his good—well better—hand. He blew his nose weakly and felt the bottom suddenly drop out from under him. He could barely keep his eyes open. Ginny started combing her fingers through his hair and he soon found himself drifting.

"I . . . I wanted . . ."

"Shhhh, Harry. Sleep."

"All . . . alright."

With a hurting but lighter heart, he slept.

When Harry awoke, the room was still quiet and vacant, though he had the sense that some time had passed.

"Ginny?"

"Harry!" She was by his side in an instant, handing him his glasses, which had apparently survived even Hell Manor. As Ginny came into sharp focus, he could see the relief on her face.

"Were you worried?"

"It was just that you were so still and . . . it was like you'd never woken up."

"How long?" he croaked.

"Just two hours. Feel better?"

Harry checked himself, then nodded. He did feel better, though strange.

Ginny smiled so happily that her dimple came out of hiding. "I let a few of them in, to give you a Potion for pain especially, but I kicked them back out as soon as they were done."

Harry finally thought to put into words something he'd been wondering ever since he woke up. "Why am I floating?"

"Because of your back, of course. It was a bloody mess."

Harry, his eyes lost in the familiar beauty of Ginny's face, reached out to take her hand. He smiled, probably a bit too big. "I love you."

"Oh. I love you, too." She teared up, leaned over and kissed his hand, pressing her cheek against his skin. "I especially love you on pain medicine. You're so funny."

Harry grinned, finding himself funny as well. "And all I'm doing is lying here. Imagine how funny I'll be when I get up."

"I'm still just glad you're awake. I didn't think you'd ever wake up."

"Neither did I." Harry turned his thoughts to the subject of being dead, which he almost had been. It seemed a fascinating thing, suddenly. "You know, I was ready to go, to be with my parents again, and Sirius. But then, when I saw Sirius, I promised him I'd try harder to stay and to fight. So I did."

Ginny stared at him a moment, then caressed his face with a gentle hand, smiling. "Does this mean I get to keep you?"

This seemed a strange question to Harry. "What?"

"Will you marry me?"

Harry blinked several times, mouth slightly agape, shocked beyond thought. "You mean you want to . . . marry? Me?"

"Of course I do! Do you think I'd do all this, go to Hell Manor and fight Death Eaters, hold you dying in my lap while sending you memories, then sit around for three weeks while you lie dead to the world, then give up half my magical energy just to let you go off and marry some manky Veela or half-witted Beauxbatons witch who doesn't know anything about you?"

Harry was reaching for Ginny, greatly concerned because she, by the end of her rant was standing up, shouting at him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Of course I'll marry you. I love you. I don't want any monkey veela or half-baton girl or any other girl. I want you, Ginny. Of course I do. Please . . . sit back down."

Ginny wiped away a few tears and sat, taking Harry's hand. "Sorry. It's been . . . hard."

They sat in silence for some moments before identical warm smiles started sprouting on their faces. Harry was slowly rubbing her hands with his, the truth slowly dawning on him. He'd done it. He'd killed Voldemort. The world was an open place to him now. He and Ginny could marry—_would_ marry.

And if they got married, then there would be a lot more kissing. And other things. Harry felt his face flame.

"You know," Ginny ventured, "it's going to be difficult to get married without the entire Wizarding World barging in and taking over."

"Really?" Harry said quickly, trying to get his mind off the very exciting train it had been on. "Er . . . why's that?" he wondered aloud.

"The whole Wizarding World had tuned into that broadcast. They didn't want to, of course, but it was too important to miss. So, they all heard you defy Voldemort and how brave you were."

Harry shifted in the bed, feeling his happiness deflate like a punctured balloon. "Then you heard it, too?"

Ginny nodded.

"I'm sorry about Percy. Terribly sorry."

She nodded again and took a deep breath. "It's been hardest on Mum. But let's not think about that right now." She looked at him with a sweet smile. "Are you ready for the Healers now?"

"Er . . . sure," he lied.

Ginny unlocked the door and a rush of Healers came in, lecturing and chiding as they headed for Harry. It was a bit overwhelming, as Harry was unbundled, medicated, cleaned and ultimately, made more comfortable.

Hermione and Ron came in grinning at some point after Harry was redressed.

"You look great, mate," Ron said, looking pale and weak.

"You look terrible," Harry replied, hating that he had once again drained Ron.

"Worth it. Still look better than you did earlier," Ron returned.

Hermione stood at the head of his bed, smoothing back Harry's hair tentatively. She bent over and whispered to him, "You are an amazing wizard, Harry Potter. Now, no more worry."

As she straightened up, Harry was amazed to see how much older and mature she looked. Ron came to stand beside her, his arm loped over her shoulders. "Stop whispering sweet nothings to him, Hermione. Ginny's got that covered already."

"Oh, you've nothing to worry about," Hermione waved a hand at him vaguely. "I love Harry like you love Ginny."

Ron made a face. _"Eugh."_

"Well, maybe not exactly," Hermione laughed, "but you get the point."

"How's Draco?" Harry suddenly thought to ask.

"He wanted to come, but . . . felt odd. He can't hear your thoughts anymore."

"That's a relief," Harry and Ginny said at the same time, then laughed.

"Yes. I'm not sure what he'll do now. He's lost his whole family and all of his friends," Hermione said pensively.

"No, he hasn't lost all of his friends," Harry said firmly. "Keep an eye on him for him, will you, until I get out of here?"

Ron grumbled, but Hermione nodded. "Of course."

Ginny leaned over and gave Harry a kiss.

"What's that for?"

"For being so you," she said with a smile.

"You're looking much better, Mr. Potter," the Head Healer beamed as she walked back over to the bed and lowered him down so that he was finally resting on the bed. "Even your back is healing nicely now. It's a miracle."

"It was love," he said back softly, looking at Ron, who promptly flushed, and Ginny, who grasped his hand, smiling.

"Oh now, isn't that sweet," the Healer cooed.

Ginny glared at her, and the witch backed off. "I'll just go . . . tidy up a bit outside. Call us if you need anything, anything at all."

But Harry, laying there, his friends nearby, looking at the love of his life, couldn't think of a thing he needed.

__

_Author's note: Here I am, all sniffly at the end after all. Thanks so much to all my readers, without whom I never would have finished this. Thanks for your constant encouragement and patience. And for those of you who found the story wanting in so many ways, my deepest apologies. I am still learning. Thanks to JK Rowling, without whom none of this would have been conceived. What a great world for us to play in! Thanks to Melindaleo, without whom I never would have written any of this. You're such a great friend! And to Chele, my dear beta without whom this story would have been so much less than it was. It's been a great four years. Great.  
_


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